


Seeing is Believing

by CuriousxCrowley



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Curtain Fic, Hurt!Sam, M/M, Permanent Injury, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Wincest - Freeform, angsty curtain fic, major character death-temporary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 28,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6254812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousxCrowley/pseuds/CuriousxCrowley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam sacrifices himself once more for the good of humanity, finally cleaning up the mess they'd made in releasing Amara. As always no good deed goes unpunished.<br/>Post season 11, will eventually be canon divergent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is slow burn and I apologize.  
> Rating for language and eventual smut. There will be Wincest smut but I'm not promising when.

It wouldn’t be surprising to anyone that Dean’s first thought upon waking up in a smoldering field somewhere in northern Wyoming would be _where’s Sam._

That is exactly his first thought as he finds himself face first in a patch of surprisingly untouched grass. He rolls to his side finding that he’s miraculously unharmed save for a handful of bruised ribs and a blinding headache. He manages to get to his feet to survey the surrounding damage. All around him and for as far as he can see, possibly further than that, is nothing but black scorched earth. Except of course for the ten-foot bubble around where he awoke.

“Sam,” He screams out and he begins to run, pulled towards the epicenter of this disaster.

There’s a crater maybe a hundred yards in front of him and he can’t see the bottom but he knows, _he knows_ , what’s going to be there. So he runs as fast as his torn and worn muscles will carry him, unable to stop running like something is pulling him forward. At the edge of the crater the invisible rope snaps and he finally stops.

Ten feet deep a maybe thirty feet wide, perfectly round like someone just took a big scoop out of the earth. He feels the air squeeze out of his lungs. Of the four (five) people who’d been in this spot earlier today the only one left is him. No Amara, no Lucifer riding Cas and no Sam. All that’s left for Dean is a giant smoking crater.

He rushes down the bank gracelessly, feet slipping out from beneath him on the loose ground. He’s not sure if the silence is only in his head or if the whole area is now devoid of life. Except, of course, for his. Dean’s not sure what he’s doing, not sure what he should be doing either so it makes no difference. His knees go week when he’s at the bottom but he pushes on drawn to the center, the last place he saw that stupid brother of his. Sam’s at the center and god he gets the symbolism in that even now when nothing else is making sense.

He sinks a little into the ash that passes for ground, the tip of his boot disappearing completely beneath it. Just as he reaches the center he knocks something with his toe, something solid, and his knees finally give out. He shoves a hand under the ash where his foot had been and he begins to dig.

The first glimpse he catches is nothing more than a hand but he knows it, he knows it better than his own. He sits back on his legs for a fraction of a second and decides where he needs to dig next.

He digs with his bare hands because he has nothing else.

He digs with his bare hands and remembers the feeling of clawing his way out of his own grave.

A nose and mouth are uncovered next and he clears the ash from inside them with his fingers. He’s not delusional he knows there’s no way but he can’t help himself it’s just something he has to do. When he’s finally uncovered the whole face a sob wracks from somewhere deep in his chest. He keeps working, shoulders shaking more from the effort to not cry than from the effort of what he’s doing. The whole head is uncovered and he lets himself run his fingers through the cinder caked hair for a moment but only for a moment.

Neck and shoulders uncovered next, the same eerie pale as the face and it turns his stomach and shatters his heart. Once he’s uncovered enough of the chest he slides his hands under and pulls. It’s difficult, but the movement dislodges the ash just enough that in the next pull unearths the body down to the knees. One giant heave, in which Dean over balances and ends on his side, and the legs are free now.

He scrambles back to his knees still distrusting his own legs and he surveys his buried treasure.

Sam’s body is laid out before him naked as the day he was born, and Dean knows because he was there. He deathly white ash distorting all of him to a dusky bruised color. He’s completely uninjured other than being so obviously and painfully dead. It’s now that Dean allows himself to cry.

He cries over what remains of the man who only this morning whispered, “It’s okay Dean, I’ve got this.”

His entire body gives out and as he collapses, head on Sam’s silent chest, he wills his own heart to stop. This time there will be no deals, no curses, and no angels to save them Billy had promised them that. So there’s no reason for Dean to keep going not when the only reason he had ever kept going was lying dead beneath him. But his body stubbornly goes on, his pulse racing as if his heart is trying to beat for two. If Dean had a gun he would have used it by now, he would have blown his brains out all over this damned crater the second he saw his brother’s face like this. But he doesn’t have a gun and from the feel of it he has absolutely no weapons left on him and he doesn’t understand how. 

He screams even though there’s no one around to hear him. He screams until he tastes blood in his throat and even then he keeps screaming. He’s not coming out of this hole, he doesn’t know how long it will take for him to die but he does know that this is where it’ll happen. Right here, clinging to the shell that once held the light of the fucking world.

Once he stops screaming he finds himself unable to keep from touching. Tips of his boots toeing against feet that used to kick him under the table in a million different diners. Knees colliding with knees that used to knock into everything long after their owner had finished growing. Hands skim over scars in places that they don’t belong before sliding to long elegant fingers that have gripped a gun more often than a book and how wrong is that? Wrists that he’s bound more than once. Arms that have carried his body twice when he was dead but have also held him in the moments when he felt most alive. A hand snakes under his brother’s body and finds the knot of scars that tell the tale of the first time Sam died, the first time Dean realized there was no purpose for him without his brother. His other hand trails to the shoulders that have held the weight of the world on them more times than they should have. Finally, to that face. Sam always spoke louder with his eyes than with his mouth.

These details mean everything to Dean but without the spark of life, the soul that he’d had to shield his eyes from, they mean nothing. Nothing means anything anymore.

The sun is setting and he’s finally run out of tears. “I won’t leave you,” he whispers and he presses his lips to Sam’s temple. His skin is unnaturally warm since he’s been dead for hours but considering the state of the world around them it’s not surprising. He wraps himself around Sam’s body and lays his head on his brother’s chest one more time. He doesn’t want to wake up and he prays to anyone listening that he doesn’t see another day.

He doesn’t notice it at first too busy closing his eyes against the glow of the setting sun to see it. But the glow continues for too long and it feels like the light is directed right at his face. He opens his eyes ready to snap at whatever is interrupting his death scene. There’s nothing there, still just him and what remains of Sam. He searches for the source of the light, gasping, he finds its right beneath his cheek.

There’s a gold glow emitting from Sam’s chest, steadily growing brighter as the sun sets behind them. He scrambles away, afraid to interrupt whatever might be happening here. It begins to spread away from his brother’s heart as if the gold is pulsing through his disused veins. With every passing second it spreads until its completely engulfed Sam from head to toe, even then it steadily gets brighter and brighter. Dean doesn’t want to look away, afraid to take his eyes off of Sam.

Then there’s a flash so bright it drives his eyes shut. He hears it over the ringing in his ears. A gasp that didn’t come from his own mouth. He chases the sound blindly, eyes not yet readjusted to his surroundings. His hand find’s Sam’s for the second time today, except this time the fingers curl around his own.

He’s not sure how they make it to the hospital but they get there just before sunrise. Sam’s propped against the passenger door. The only signs of life are the jagged rise and fall of his chest and the steady pulse beneath Dean’s fingers. It’s not much but it’s the driving force behind Dean getting them to the hospital alive. He manages, just barely, to swing into the ambulance bay. Staggering he gets as far as the passenger door before it’s all too much.


	2. Two

The shrill alarm of a hospital monitor wakes him, there’s an IV in his arm attached to a depleted bag. He swings a hand out to silence the machine and his fingers collide with someone else’s hand.

Blinking against the blinding white of the hospital room he sees its Jody Mills standing next to the bed looking just as tired as he feels. When she sees his eyes on her she smiles warmly.

“Hey there,” She coos softly and if Dean didn’t feel so out of it he’d protest against the tone.

Before he can find the words to ask an aide comes in the room and immediately upon seeing Dean with his eyes open she backs out and he can hear her calling for help and then two nurses join the girl. They all flock to Dean’s bedside effectively blocking Jody from him. They start asking questions as they do vital checks on him.

“How are you feeling”

“Do you know how you got here?”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Dean doesn’t answer a single question, flicking his head back and forth trying to track three faces at once.

Eventually the excitement dies down and one of the nurses, the oldest of the group, studies his face for a second before shooing the other’s out of the room. Jody’s backed up against the wall looking a little lost and lot helpless. Dean feels guilty because he knows she’s put her whole life on hold to come take care of him and Sam.

“Heya sweetheart I’m Randi,” the older woman says drawing his eyes from Jody. “I’m the RN on this floor. You and your buddy over there have caused quiet the stir with the way you arrived.” Her voice is soft and kind but Dean doesn’t care much, he turns his head to the curtain on his right.

“Sammy,” It comes out hoarse and scratched but it’s the word he wanted to say.

Randi’s eyes follow his with a smile and she pulls back the curtain. Sam’s laying a mere three feet away: oxygen up his nose, wires coming out from under the gown and a headband of monitors wrapped around his forehead but they all tell him the same thing. Sam is alive.

“So you and this handsome fella come riding in at five in the morning, him with not a stitch on ‘im and you concussing yourself on my sidewalk,” the nurse begins but she’s careful not to step into Dean’s line of sight as if she knows he needs to see those monitors. “And all you have to say for yourself is ‘Sammy’?” Dean doesn’t have to look at her to see the smile.

Jody chuckles and she sounds closer to the bed but Dean cannot bring himself to look away.

He swallows a few times, trying to wash away the cottony feeling coating his mouth. “He okay?” He asks finally. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Randi’s posture change, tenser now than she was seconds ago. That gets Dean to drag his eyes from his brother.

“He’s not been awake since you got here. He was definitely dehydrated and his blood panels were all out of whack but no broken bones and the scans say his brains just fine,” She begins fussing with one of the wires.

Dean hears the ‘but’ at the end of her statement, “And?” he asks trying not to sound as irritated as he feels.

“And despite what the scans say he came in essentially brain dead. Sure he was breathing and his heart was ticking away but there was nothing on the strips to suggest that even those things should have been taking place,” Randi turns to face Dean now, hand on an unmonitored patch of Sam’s arm. “He’s getting better, brain activity started picking up last night and it seems to be working towards normal but I don’t want to get your hopes up he could stop progress at any moment, he could still slide backwards.”

Dean nods and his chest is tight but at least there’s something in his chest, back in the crater he’d felt just as dead as Sam was.

Randi excuses herself and pats Jody’s arm as she leaves, and Jody takes her cue and steps forward to Dean’s bed. “They called me after finding my number in a phone in the car. I got here Saturday around noon.”

Dean looks around the room trying to find a calendar or some indication of the date, finding none he blinks at Jody expectantly.

“You guys came in on Friday morning, that was four days ago,” Jody supplies seeing the question on his face. “I don’t know if you remember but you woke briefly when they took your brother for his tests and you scared one of the aides so bad they sedated you.”

Dean snickers to himself and turns his head to look at Sam. “He was dead,” it’s a whisper but the tightening of Jody’s hand on the rail tells him she heard.

“What the hell happened out there, Dean? News outlets have picked up the mysterious crater, UFO creeps are flocking out here by the dozen.”

“Sammy was a hero,” he gets out in the same whisper as before and that’s what happened. Once again Sam stepped up to the plate for the whole of humanity and no one, save for Dean and a handful of other people are going to know about it.

He looks to Jody and sees a stray tear tracking down her cheek. Dean reaches up his hand and wipes it away, the guilty feeling returning to the pit of his stomach. How long ago was it that Jody Mills was nothing more than a small town sheriff who kindly put up with the town drunk, Bobby Singer. Now she’s raising a former vampire and a future hunter.

Jody smiles sadly at him and lays her hand over his, “None of that, if anyone needs some TLC it’s you boys.”

Dean doesn’t really have the fight in him to argue that _he_ doesn’t need anything, that its Sam who needs everyone’s attention. He just nods and keeps watching Sam. Jody takes the hint and excuses herself to go call the girls. That makes Dean smile again, they might have screwed over her life a couple times but she seems happy to have the girls to take care of.

He does nothing but watch Sam’s vitals over the next hour. The aide from earlier comes in and repositions his brother, putting a few pillows behind him to prop Sam on his side. His brother’s face is blank and the lines of his EEG don’t fluctuate in the slightest. The lights are on but nobody’s home. The last time Sam was like this Dean stuffed an angel in his brain, a lesson he doesn’t need repeating. Sam has to heal on his own this time or he won’t heal at all.

Jody comes back a littler after the aide leaves but this time there’s a man in a lab jacket following her. “Hello Dean,” He says in a bright tone, “I’m Doctor Evans, I’m the one managing your and your brother’s care.” Dean shakes the hand that’s offered to him but he looks past the doctor to Jody who nods.

“You seem to be much better than when we first saw you,” Evans starts swiping around on a tablet. “Can you shed any light on how you boys got here?”

His eyes dart between the doctor and Jody, he suddenly gets an idea. “We were camping out by where all that stuff happened. I don’t know there was a light and then I found Sam like that,” he gestures towards his brother’s hospital bed. “And I got him in the car and started driving but I uh, don’t remember anything other than that.”

Jody smiles at him from behind the doctor’s back. _Liar_ he can read in her eyes as she rolls them.

The doctor nods, “Yes we’ve had a few other cases of injuries from the area. Police still don’t know what happens.” Dean gives a small sigh of relief, at least his story was believable.

“So doc, what about Sammy?” He asks even though he knows the answer from the nurse but he’s going to ask anyone and everyone until its Sam he can ask.

The doctor frowns, “I’m not sure how much they told you,” he begins and makes his way to Sam’s bed. He lifts the covers from Sam’s foot and starts preforming what Dean knows are reflex tests. “Your brother technically shouldn’t be alive. I’ve only seen EEG lines that flat on a corpse. But yet there he was breathing and with a pulse.” He moves up to Sam’s knee and Dean sees the muscle twitch when the hammer makes contact.  “He’s made great progress in that department though. It could go anyway at this rate though but there’s a few questions I have for you.” He’s up to Sam’s elbows, both twitching out appropriately.

Dean looks up at the doctors face, “Yeah?”

“Now I know you said you were out camping where all that weird stuff happened but do you have a family history of glaucoma?” Doctor Evan’s asks straightening up next to Sam’s side.

Dean wracks his brain for a moment, doesn’t take more than that because everyone in his family has died young. “Not that I know of, why?”

“Any blindness? Did Sam have any eye troubles prior to your camping trip?”

“No, twenty-twenty vision,” Dean answers looking to Sam’s face as if it holds any clue as to what’s going on. “Why?” he repeats

Doctor Evans’ gives a small sigh, “Then to be entirely honest I have no clue what has caused this.” He pulls out a small flashlight from his pocket and pulls up Sam’s eyelid. Dean can’t contain the gasp that slips from his mouth.

Instead of the once kaleidoscope colored eyes Dean fell in love with there is nothing but a milky white fog across Sam’s eye. He wasn’t close enough to see how bad it was but he knew he couldn’t make out the pupil or iris from where he was. When the doctor had shined his light from every angle he switched to the other eye. It was the same situation, nothing but white.

Jody was watching the doctor as well but it was clear this wasn’t the first time she’d seen it. Her eyes flicker down to Dean, “I told them he wasn’t like that the last time I’d seen you guys.”

The doctor was back by Dean’s bedside, tablet propped on his hand as he pecks away at it. “While he’s unconscious his eyes make no difference,” Dean’s fists clench, “Now if he wakes I want to have an eye specialist come to make the confirmation but I feel comfortable preparing you that your brother will most likely be blind.”

Dean stomach lurches and he nearly throws up on himself. Jody’s the one to hand him a barf bag off the wall and she starts rubbing his shoulder soothingly as he pukes. He hasn’t eaten yet so it’s nothing but bile and even after there’s nothing coming up he keeps dry heaving. He finally settles and the doctor hands him a dixie cup of water. He downs it trying to get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth. Dean barely makes it through his own exam with the doctor without throwing up again, his stomach angry every time he thinks about Sam’s eyes.

“Dean” Jody begins after the doctor has left, “if Sam wakes up you can deal with his eyes then. If it’s something supernatural I’m sure you two can figure it out.”

Dean stares like she’s grown an extra head even though he knows she doesn’t mean it that way. “When.” He grits out between his teeth.

“What?” Jody looks puzzled.

“When Sam wakes up,” Dean corrects.


	3. Three

Dean’s right because he has to be. Two days shy of three weeks since the incident Sam’s body shudders to life much like it did when Dean held him in the crater. Dean is, of course, right by his brother’s side when it happens.

He’d been discharged four days after he came to in the hospital but he never actually left the room. Randi took pity on him after coming in to find him folded awkwardly in the hospital chair by Sam’s bed. She told him to sleep in the bed he’d been in, that she’d make sure they got no roommates so it would remain open to him.

 Dean reads to Sam in the days that pass. He reads The Hobbit and Carrie, he reads the newspaper and he reads him those stupid clickbait articles. He reads to his brother from the moment he wakes until he loses his voice in the early evening, stopping only when he really has to. Randi provides him cough drops and says nothing about Dean’s constant need to read to Sam.

He’s seventeen pages into Misery when Sam snaps up with a gasp, the monitors immediately screaming into the room because Sam’s heart is going jack rabbit quick. Dean’s up with his hands on Sam’s cheeks without even realizing he’s moved. “Sam, Sammy.” He whispers tightening his hold on his brother as the nurses come flying into the room. Sam doesn’t respond and Dean allows himself to be pushed to the side

The nurses get Sam to lay down with only a few soft pushes and blessedly someone mutes the alarm. Dean watches as the heart rate remains steady in the 160s, much too high. It’s then that he notices Sam’s lips are moving, forming the same word over and over. _Dean_.

He shoves past one of the nurses and grabs Sam’s hand, “I’m here Sammy, it’s okay I’m here,” he’s trying to sound reassuring. He keeps repeating the words over and over again, watching as the heart rate slowly begins to fall and Sam’s no longer panting. His fingers are vice grip tight around Dean’s but he doesn’t mind. He’d let Sam break every bone in his body if it made him feel better.

As Sam calms Dean lets his voice drop until he’s doing nothing but murmuring nonsense to his brother. It’s then that Randi and Dr Evans come into the room, Dean’s grateful to see one of them at least. Randi herds the other nurses back out of the room before shutting the door. “Well you two can’t do anything without drama can you?” She asks but there’s a smile tugging at her lips.

Doctor Evans does his exam and even when he’s crowding Dean, close enough that if it were anyone else they’d get punched, he refuses to move from his spot. Sam’s head is whipping around wildly and his heart rate is still up but at least it’s no longer dangerous. He flinches away from the doctor when he starts poking around at his face. “Son, can you hear me?” the doctor asks and Dean kind of wants to punch him, not for the first time.

Sam’s fingers impossibly tighten more around Dean’s but he slowly nods, head turning toward the other man milk white eyes rolling around in his sockets. Dean’s gotten past vomiting every time he sees them. Right now they’re barely a blip on his radar because Sam’s awake and responding to questions.

“Dean.” It’s Sam’s first word after he wakes, just like it was his first word as a baby, and Dean almost cries for how beautiful it sounds to hear it said by his brother again.

“Yeah, Sammy, I’m here,” He soothes again, stroking his thumb over Sam’s fingers.

Sam’s mouth pulls tight as he turns his head. He’d be looking at Dean except for the eyes. “Dean what’s going on. Why’s it dark?” Sam asks after a second, there’s panic lying just beneath his words.

Doctor Evans takes that as his sign to jump back in, “Sam, I’m Doctor Evans. I need you to talk to me. Can you see my light?” and he shines it directly into Sam’s eye. Dean looks over at Randi who’s standing respectfully at the foot of the bed, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Sam shakes his head, “N-no,” he stammers out and his brows creases together worriedly. “Dean, Dean am I blind?” he asks, his voice has gone up a few octaves.

“Now Sam,” Evans begins in a tone that’s so very close to condescending, “We still have to run some tests but given the state of your corneas and the fact you can’t see my light I’m afraid that’s exactly what’s happened here.” Sam’s fingers twitch in Dean’s hand and the monitors show his pulse spiking again.

“Doc, are we done? Can I have some time with my brother please?” Dean cuts in trying to stave off the panic attack he can feel coming.

Doctor Evans nods, “Yes, of course. I’m going to go contact that specialist we spoke about.” He pats Sam’s shoulder before leaving and the action makes Dean’s jaw tick.

Randi lingers in the room for a second, watching Evans leave, she turns back and looks at Dean. “You boys need anything, just ring and I’ll personally come in.” Dean can’t help but sigh in relief after she leaves.

Sam’s head is still darting around quickly, like if he moves fast enough he’ll be able to see again. “Dean are you okay?”

Dean laughs and it’s bitter sounding even to his ears. “I’m fine Sammy, not a scratch on me which I want to ask about considering the state of everything else.”

“The state of everything else?” Sam tilts his head back to Dean’s direction.

“The whole fucking area was burnt to a crisp, except where I came to. You,” Dean’s voice breaks, “Oh god there’s a crater and you were in it. Dead, Sam, you were dead. I dug you out from the ashes and you were dead.”

Sam yanks his hand from Dean’s suddenly. “Dean what’d you do?” he’s suspicious and of course he has every right to be given their history.

“Nothing, that’s the thing. I was ready to curl up and die right next to you but then, I don’t know, something happened and you were alive again.” Dean insists. He desperately wants Sam to believe him so he grabs the hand back and leans down so he can put it on his face. “I don’t know what happened but it wasn’t me.”

Sam walks his fingers over Dean’s face, poking and prodding in different areas. Finally, he lets his hand drop, “I believe you.”

Dean pulls the chair up next to the bed and reaches his hand back to Sam who gladly takes it. “So you can’t see anything?” He knows its tactless but he’s got to ask. He watches the monitor above the bed spike into the 130s.

Sam shakes his head, “No, I keep trying to open my eye lids but then I realize they’re already open.” He blinks rapidly as if trying to prove his point.

Dean rubs his thumb along the back of Sam’s hand again, “Hey it’s okay we’ll figure it out.” He soothes.

Sam’s quiet for a long time, he’s turned his head unseeingly towards the ceiling. Dean doesn’t speak because he doesn’t know what to say, what to do right now. “Did it work?” Sam asks breaking the silence.

“Best guess is probably,” Dean admits. He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand feeling a little sheepish, he hadn’t actually tried to verify that they’d been successful. “I haven’t really left the room… at all.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Sam’s lips and Dean’s heart is ready to jump out of his chest when he sees it. “I can tell,” Sam says and the smile grows a little, “you fucking reek.”

Dean laughs, this time for real, it’s too loud in the quiet of their room but Dean doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter because Sam’s alive and telling him he smells and right now it’s perfect.


	4. Four

Not much changes in the next week. They see about five different vision specialists and each one delivers the same news. There’s nothing that they can do to correct the issue because they can’t actually find a source of the problem. Structurally Sam’s eyes are just fine until you get to the cornea where the thick white fog is. One doctor offers exploratory surgery but Sam down right refuses the second the words are said. Dean can’t blame him, the idea of someone poking around his eyes with a scalpel creeps him out too.

Sam is up and kind of walking the day after he wakes. He leans heavily on Dean, letting himself be guided around the hospital wing as they do slow laps. Sam’s incredibly patient with needing help with everything and Dean is right there to do the work. He helps Sam shower and he shaves his brother of the beard that’s been growing. Sam allows him to guide his hand to the containers on the lunch tray and Dean tells him what each one is, after three days Sam manages to figure out feeding himself by feel only.

They don’t talk about what happened in the field. Dean tries twice only to find himself completely ignored or shot down in his attempts. He wants to know what happened because he can’t remember much. He can’t figure out how he managed to walk out unharmed when Amara and Cas/Lucifer apparently ended up piles of ash.

By the end of the week Sam’s begging to leave, “I can’t take the smells Dean, I swear I’m going to cut off my nose,” he threatens from the hospital bed.

Randi comes in personally with the discharge papers as Dean’s helping his brother into a pair of sweat pants. “I took the liberty of looking up some eye doctors in Kansas,” She says and provides Dean with a healthy stack of print outs. He tucks them dutifully into his duffle bag and hugs the nurse goodbye.

He watches as Sam runs a hand over the Impala’s roof, face tilted towards the sun. It’s his new habit and he reminds Dean a little of a sunflower always turning with the sun’s rays. Dean points them towards Kansas it’s a nine hour drive back to the bunker and they drive for as long as Dean can, until Sam’s stomach is growling louder than his own. They pull into a diner and Dean sees the first crack in Sam’s patience seconds after they slide into a booth.

The waitress drops two menus in front of the them, obviously not having looked at Sam when she walked over. Sam lifts his menu and flaps it around petulantly before Frisbee tossing it in Dean’s direction. “It’s a diner, Sam.” Dean says trying not to sound too careful about his words, “They all have the same thing.” It’s true and Sam orders a stack of pancakes without ever having to see the menu.

It’s when they get to the bunker that Dean feels the first cracks in his own wall of patience with his brother. Sam flat our refuses any help getting into the building and slips twice before getting inside. Dean stands at the foot of the interior stairs, arms crossed over his chest, and watches as Sam slides down on his butt. He wants to snap at his brother and tell him to stop being ridiculous and accept help but he bites his tongue.

Sam falls exactly three times and bashes into at least half a dozen walls before getting to his room. Dean follows the whole way but knows better than to interfere, he leans against the door and sighs. “You’re gunna be a walking bruise by the end of the week.”

Sam snaps his head towards Dean, “I’m gunna blindfold you and see how well you do, asshole.”

Dean wants to make a crude joke about how Sam wont being ‘seeing’ anything but even he gets how low of a blow it is, so he sighs instead. “Just be careful okay? Yell if you need me.” Sam doesn’t even bother to respond as Dean leaves.

He heads down the hall to his own room ignoring the nagging feeling of worry in the back of his head. Thus far they’ve been cocooned in the relative safety of the hospital where Sam was willing to let Dean lead him around and do things for him. Now they’re out in the real world and Dean realizes that he can’t do everything for his brother but he can’t help but wonder how stubborn Sam is going to be about this whole thing.

Permanent had been the word most repeated by the specialists that they’d seen. They’d all warned that because they had nothing to treat that more than likely the injury was permanent. Sam had grown quieter with every meeting and by the forth doctor he hadn’t even bothered to speak. Dean had been left to ask and answer all the questions which was why he hadn’t even bothered to wake Sam when the fifth doctor had come in.

Despite how badly Dean wants to go dig through the bunker’s archives for a fix, he knows in his gut that they’re in this for the long haul. He knows how lucky they are that Sam’s even alive, that either of them are even alive right now.

As he lays down that night Dean selfishly wonders if he’s ever going to be okay never seeing the former color of Sam’s eyes restored.

Dean’s awake before Sam the next morning and he’s quietly thankful that some of Sam’s fight from the previous night has left. Sam allows Dean to lead him to the kitchen and sits quietly with a blank face as he makes breakfast. Dean tries for small talk but Sam ignores him so he settles for singing to himself. When he glances back he sees a sad smile on his brother’s face, it’s not great but it’s still a smile. He’ll count it as a victory.

After eating Sam gets his plate to the sink and manages to not trip on the stairs out of the kitchen. Dean stuffs the last of his toast in his mouth and follows, trying to keep a respectful distance but he can’t help hover. Sam walks a few feet in front of him a hand on the wall acting as his guide. Dean cringes when he guesses their destination. Sure enough Sam navigates into the library and after jamming his thigh into the corner of a table he finds a chair and sits.

Dean watches from the archway because he doesn’t know what to say or do. Sam just sits at the table, hands folded in front of him, facing towards the wall. He doesn’t do or say anything, just sits. This isn’t territory they’ve ever been in before. All their previous physical injuries had been superficial, the worst was when Dean shattered his right leg, and even then they’d only been laid up a few weeks at the most.

This injury is life changing and since he woke and learned about the probably prognosis his brother faced Dean hadn’t truly stopped to consider just how much was going to change. He’d been too wrapped up waiting for Sam to wake up because it was the most important thing at the time. Then Sam had been awake and he’d just been so happy to have his brother conscious that he didn’t think about it, or maybe didn’t want to think about it. Being in the hospital had made it easy to forget all the things in the world that they did that required sight.

Dean wondered if Sam had realized that for now there would be no books, no reading lore until his eyes bled and then picking up a different book for pleasure. He would offer to read to his brother, like he had in the hospital, but Dean felt like it would be another below belt blow. Dean had the kitchen and the garage in the bunker and Sam had always had the library. Now his brother’s once favorite room was nothing more than a dirty reminder of every stupid sacrifice he’d made for the ungrateful world.

Sam’s still sitting silently when Dean grabs the laptop that’s been left on the table, which turns out to be Sam’s, and takes his own seat. He puts on Sam’s music in an attempt to make _something_ better for him. Over the top of the laptop he watches his brother for a while, Sam’s hands are clenching and unclenching where he holds them. After a few minutes of watching he begins his research. First stop is figuring out exactly where to start so he types “adult blindness support” into the search engine and crosses his fingers.

It’s maybe twenty minutes later, and half a page of notes hastily scribbled, when Sam finally snaps. He bolts up from his chair and swings out an arm. Dean barely has time to dodge out of the way when the desk lamp goes sailing past his head, crashing to the floor somewhere behind him. “Dude what the hell?” he yells.

Sam’s chest is heaving as he rakes a shaking hand through his hair, “What the hell good is having a library if I can’t fucking read. What kind of ‘man of letters’ can’t even fucking read?” He screams kicking the chair out from behind him.

Dean waits a few more seconds before approaching, trying to determine if talking is even an option right now. He barely gets his hand on his brother’s arm before Sam’s pulling away sharply. He throws himself off balance and falls to the floor with a thud. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and slowly exhales. Now is not the time to literally kick his brother when he’s down.

“Okay Sammy,” He emphasizes the name, “We done having a tantrum?”

Sam growls from low in his chest, “Fuck you, Dean.”

Dean ignores the warnings and reaches down to grab his brother by the arms. He’s barely got Sam to his feet before he starts swinging. The first punch is fairly accurate and clips Dean’s chin but he uses his advantage and steps away from his irate brother. “You calm the fuck down,” He shouts but it only seems to enrage Sam more, and honestly he should have known that, because he lunges in Dean’s direction. Dean easily side steps the telegraphed motion and Sam goes sailing to the ground.

“Alright if we’re throwing punches I’m out, you need to calm down.” Dean says and carefully steps around his brother and heads towards his room. Slamming the door he throws himself on the bed with a sigh. His fingers find the bottle of whiskey stashed between the bed and nightstand.

Dean knows he needs to be the reasonable one right now, after all its not his head that’s suddenly gone dark, but he just can’t because he’s grieving to. Sitting up he doesn’t even brother trying to find a cup and just takes a pull from the bottle. His own laptop is sitting on the desk so he grabs it, another sip of whiskey, and boots up the computer.

He spends the next four hours hiding away in his room and before he knows it the bottle is almost empty and he has what he thinks are a good amount of notes to get them pointed in the right direction. The only problem will be getting Sam to admit he needs the help. For someone who is always the first person to offer help Sam is pretty shitty at accepting it for himself, always determined to do things on his own. Dean knows that eventually Sam will come around to it but the question is whether that’ll happen sooner or later.

Maybe it’s the whiskey and maybe it’s a little dangerous but Dean has a little bit of hope after all the research and he allows the booze to lull him to sleep.

When Dean wakes its almost five and there’s the dull throb of his promised hangover pounding away behind his eyes. He gets up and heads to the kitchen, stomach growling because he’s missed lunch. Sam’s nowhere to be seen and the nagging feeling is back in his gut but he drowns it with a bottle of beer. He doubts Sam is stupid enough to leave the bunker so he’s probably in his room sulking. Dean feels bad, he does, but he knows from experience that you can only fuss over someone so much and sometimes it’s best to just take the backseat approach for a while.

He makes breaded chicken for dinner and calls out, with no response, when it’s done. He eats in silence but makes up a plate for his brother when he’s done. He knocks softly on Sam’s door but pushes it open before he gets an answer, all attempts at privacy are just an act they put on.

Sam is face down on the bed with his feet and arms hanging off the sides and he’s snoring a little.

Dean places the plate on the desk and watches, allows this to be a normal night even though he knows it’s not. On a normal night Sam would wake and probably feel a little guilty for throwing punches but he’d see the plate on the desk and know everything is forgiven. On a normal night he’d eat the cold food without much complaint and then come find Dean in his room and they’d throw back a beer or two before passing out watching shitty B-list horror movies.

But it’s not a normal night, or maybe this is their new normal. Tonight Sam will wake up and won’t even know Dean thought to bring him dinner because he won’t see it. He probably won’t realize that Dean’s not holding the punches against him and he’ll assume the worst like he always does. 

He grabs hold of Sam’s ankle and shakes hard enough the other man’s head moves around. Sam pulls his foot away and mumbles something under his breath that either isn’t actual words or that Dean just can’t understand. “I made dinner, it’s on your desk.” He tells his brother hoping he’s conscious enough to hear him. Sam grumbles again in response and rolls to his side.

Dean spends the rest of the evening unpacking the Impala from their latest trip. He allows his fingers to run over the now empty wooden box that’s been sitting in the back seat since that day in the field.

He doesn’t have proof that it even worked, that Amara is gone for good. He knows it though and he wonders if it’s the ‘bond’ she was always speaking of. Regardless of what it is he has to trust that it worked because if Sam is suffering like this and it didn’t work then Dean’s just going to lose his damn mind.

He eventually finds his way back to his room, resisting the urge to poke his head into Sam’s room, and settles in for the night.

It’s a low moan that drags Dean from his sleep. At first he doubts he even heard anything because when he comes around his room is completely silent. Then it happens again. His first thought is ghost which he dismisses as soon as he gets his hand around his gun. The room is not cold enough for it to be a ghost. Nudging the door open to his he hears sobbing a little louder this time.

Sam.

He’s running, bare feet slapping the tile, towards his brother’s room but when he gets there he finds nothing. He stands still for a moment and hears the muffled sounds again but this time he realizes he’s moved further away. He follows the sounds back past his own door and down the hall further. Eventually he finds Sam, sitting on the floor with his knees drawn to his chest and he’s crying.

“Sam,” Dean says softly, trying not to startle his brother but it doesn’t work and Sam jumps. “Woah, hey, it’s me,” he says and kneels next to hi,, tentatively reaching a hand out to his shoulder. Sam ducks his head back against his knees and his whole body begins to shake.

Dean pulls his brother against him, braver now that the original contact didn’t end in fists again. “What happened? Are you hurt?” he asks, free hand skimming over Sam’s shoulder and arms looking for injury. Finding none he waits for his brother to settle.

“I took my plate to the kitchen,” Sam finally says when his breathing has evened out. “And I don’t know, I guess I over shot because the room I went into wasn’t mine. I don’t even know where we are right now.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean soothes and he means it. When they moved in, even with his sight, Dean got lost a few times in the first few days. He’d always turn left instead of right or walk two doors too far to find himself opening the door into a storage closet or an empty bedroom. He blames himself for not realizing it was going to be worse for Sam.

Sam laughs bitterly but doesn’t push him away. “I can’t even find my own room, Dean. How am I going to be of any use anymore?”

There’s a rubber band snap in the back of Dean’s brain and his vision fogs for a second. He wants to punch the shit out of something until each and every one of his knuckles is ground to dust. But now is not the time for that, right now Sam is lying broken in his arms and needs him to step up. Needs Dean to step into his role as big brother and fix everything, even though they both know there are some things Dean won’t be able to fix. “As if you could ever be useless,” he says.

Sam pulls himself slowly from Dean’s embrace and tilts his head up so that at any other day they’d be looking at each other but of course they’re not because… well just because. “Dean I can’t even find my own room I sure as shit can’t hunt. I can’t even do the research for you to hunt, how the hell am I going to be anything other than a burden?”

Dean’s not surprised because he’s already concluding that hunting, at least for Sam, is no longer an option. Eileen had been one thing but even deaf she had still known where to point a gun or aim a blade. She’d also been deaf her whole life, Sam was going to have to adjust before he got anywhere near normal functioning levels again and that could take years. “I told you, you couldn’t be useless if you tried, dumbass,” Dean says reaching for his brother’s arm and pulling him back to him. “You’ve died to save the world, we’ve both given up too much. Maybe hunting isn’t everything,” he finishes and while its exactly what he meant to say Dean’s surprised to find there’s more truth to his words than he originally believed. Maybe hunting wasn’t everything.

“Yeah Dean, lets teach the fish to fly.” Sam snorts in his arms, clearly not believing his speech.

Dean rolls his eyes openly because it’s not like Sam will know and he stands pulling his brother with him. “Come on, bed.” He says instead of letting out the argument that’s hiding on the back of his tongue.

Sam’s complacent again and Dean’s not really sure if this is good news or bad news but at least it gets them down the hall. He makes the executive decision that they’ll be sleeping in his room, he doesn’t need any more midnight strolls to land either of them in trouble. Sam’s face screws up when he pushes open the door, “Your room?” he asks and refuses to budge past the door frame.

“Yes my room,” Dean says like it should be all the explanation needed and for once Sam goes with it and allows himself to be led inside. Dean realizes that it’s perhaps a more familiar situation than it should be when they arrange themselves on the bed. They’ve shared his bed more times than he can recall since inheriting the bunker. Usually as a result of passing out watching TV or nightmares that are just a little too vivid to get comfortable again. They’ve never discussed it, just something that’s happened since they were kids. When you grow up with three people sharing a space smaller than most people’s living rooms you learn to depend on physical proximity for comfort.

Dean’s beds bigger than Sam’s but not by much, the size of the rooms didn’t allow for too much of an upgrade when he bought the mattress, but they settle into their positions quickly. There’s no way for them to share without touching so inevitably they end up on their opposite sides facing the wall with their backs coming together in the middle. This is why he feels the second Sam’s hitching breaths even out into sleep. He waits just a little longer before fishing the whisky bottle out from its hiding place and finishing it.


	5. Five

Dean watches Sam navigate the bunker for two days before coming to the conclusion that it’s just too big. He knows his brother would eventually figure it out but he also keeps thinking about what he said in the hall that night. Hunting wasn’t everything and maybe it was time to pack up the bunker since all it would be is a reminder of what they know and the fact that they can no longer do much about it.

Sam avoids the library like the plague resides in it, spending most of his days hiding out in his room. Dean wants to chalk it up to healing, it’s not even been a month so of course Sam needs some sleep, but there’s that feeling again sinking into his stomach. Dean wakes him to eat and makes him walk around but there’s not much else Sam’s willing to do but he doesn’t push it. It’s only been a month.

Sam’s absence makes it easier for Dean to start planning. He contemplates sticking in Kansas but immediately dismisses it because there are just too many memories in this state. He dismisses the west coast for the same reason. At the end of his contemplation there’s a short list of place he’d consider living and he decides that it’ll be Sam’s job to make the final call.

Grabbing his list he walks to Sam’s room where he finds his brother laying on the bed, phone playing something with a ton of acoustic guitar and quite possibly a tambourine. “I thought I raised you better,” he grumbles and Sam scrambles for his phone and fumbles with it for a moment before it silences.

“Shut up, it’s what played when I opened the radio app,” Sam mumbles but his cheeks are painted in a light blush and Dean smiles because of it.

“Ohio, North Carolina, Arizona or Oregon,” Dean says as he sits on the bed next to Sam’s feet. He’s got specific areas he wants to live in those states but he figures that it’s best not to throw it all out at one time. 

“Huh?” Sam says with all of his usual elegance.

Dean lets out an exaggerated sigh as if it’s obvious, “Pick a place to live. Ohio, North Carolina, Arizona, or Oregon.”

Sam’s eyebrows furrow and he tilts his head, a little like a confused dog, “Why would I be moving?”

“ _We_ dumbass,” Dean emphasizes. “We would be moving because I told you the other day, hunting isn’t everything. This place is just too much right now for us so I figured we could find something smaller.” He evades the reason the bunker is too much no reason to piss off Sam again.

“Why those places?” Sam asks but his lips are pulled tight like he knows what Dean’s thinking, and he’s not dumb so he probably does.

“Ohio because the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, duh. Arizona because you seemed to like it there that summer you thought it was cute to run away. Oregon because you also liked Portland. And finally North Carolina because we both liked Charlotte when we had that poltergeist case with Dad.” Dean explains, proud that he thought ahead to have answers for why he picked those specific locations.

Sam folds his fingers across his stomach, “This is stupid, Dean, you shouldn’t have to give up everything for me.” He says quietly.

“Shut up, I think I made it clear a few years ago that you are the only person I’d be willing to give up everything for,” Dean snaps. He immediately regrets the harsh tone and scrubs his hands over his face, “Besides, like I said hunting isn’t everything.”

“North Carolina,” Sam says after a few moments of silence. “I think I like North Carolina best,” he repeats. Dean doesn’t ask why, just pleased that Sam’s actually chosen something. “But how exactly are we going to get a house? We don’t really have any money stashed for a security deposit.” Sam brings up suddenly and he begins chewing on his lower lip like he’s having doubts.

Dean’s had this particular detail worked out for a while now. “Actually we do,” He says and he can’t help but smile.

Sam raises an eyebrow, “Uh we do?”

Dean nods even though Sam can’t see. “A few years back, when the leviathans were wearing our faces for fun I had Frank set up a few extra identities for us. Then Charlie found out about them and set up a bank account under one of our aliases that some money is automatically transferred to every so often.” He never did get the chance to ask Charlie where the money was coming from, knowing Charlie it was probably from some politician’s pocket, but he still gets bank statements with an ever increasing balance on them. 

“Oh wow,” Sam says sounding pretty shocked. “So uh, what are our names.”

Dean smirks to himself before answering, “Well the bank account is set up under Dean Smith-“

“Oh you did not,” Sam groans loudly.

“Oh but I did, little brother, I mean it was a pretty shitty situation but the names were pretty cool,” Dean laughs. “Or should I say Sam Wesson.” Sam groans again but he’s smiling, actually smiling: teeth and dimples on display. It’s the first true smile he’s seen since his brother woke and for that moment Dean feels like maybe things are going to be okay again.


	6. Six

They don’t waste time and within two weeks they’ve got everything they deem necessary packed into the trunk and the back seat of the Impala. Most of the weapons are still in the hidden trunk, they’re not going to run around unprotected, but they take very little from the actual bunker that they hadn’t brought into it. Dean’s insistent that they legally own the Impala under their new, old, identities. In a game of title hoping that takes most of those two weeks they pass the Impala from Dean Winchester to Dean Smith with little trouble.

After the papers are signed and the last of their things loaded they close up the bunker, well Dean does most of the work while Sam sits in various rooms looking lost. They keep the key, stored in a box in the trunk, because there’s always the possibility that they’ll need it again.

Dean’s surprised to find that it’s easy when they get in the car and point east. Considering this is the first place he’s thought of as home since he was a toddler he expected to be sad or nostalgic or _something_. He doesn’t feel any of those things, he’s got Sam and the Impala- what more could he need?

He drags out the trip to take three days even though he could probably have done it in less than two. He’s trying to take his time and Sam seems to enjoy riding in the car, hands constantly caressing the interior. When they finally arrive on the outskirts of Charlotte he picks a Motel 6 and checks in under Dean Smith, chuckling to himself when he signs the credit card statement. He’s pleased enough that he charms one of the housekeepers out of her number.

Sam seems to navigate the motel room eons better than he did the bunker, years of muscle memory working in their advantage. It’s enough of an encouragement that he actually texts the housekeeper, Jenn, and invites her out to a bar. He tries not to feel smug when she accepts. It’s been a while since he’s had it in him to go all out with the charm and it feels good to know that he’s still got it.

Normally he’d just get ready and hit Sam with the news of his plans for the night as he left, but again he’s reminded this isn’t their old normal. So he arranges to meet with Jenn a little later than he normally would and has dinner with his brother. Sam waves him off when he brings up the date and tells him to go out saying he’s tired and will be fine. Dean’s not sure that he’s buying it but Sam so clearly wants him to that he decides its best that he does.

Jenn turns out to be dangerously bright, the kind of girl Sam would go for. She’s younger than he had first guessed, only in her third year at UNCC, which he’s not sure if it makes him feel more creepy or pleased with himself. For as charming as he is and as entertaining as she is they part company at last call.

When Dean gets back to the motel room he’s a little more than confused when he smells whiskey. He’d only had beer the whole night and he’s sure no one had dumped anything on him. He finds the source of the smell laying on its side by the bed Sam’s camped on. It’s concerning that even on its side the whiskey bottle hasn’t spilled on the carpet and the only liquor he’d brought into the room had been an unopened bottle he’d stuffed into his duffle.

Sure enough the bottle is missing from his bag. Dean grabs the trashcan from the bathroom and puts it by Sam’s bed. Carefully he rolls his brother off of his back and onto his stomach, Sam doesn’t even stir while he does it. It’s not likely he won’t wake up if and when his brother’s stomach expels the booze but he doesn’t want to chance Sam choking to death on his own vomit.

Dean wakes to the sounds of Sam in the shower and from the low continuous grown he can tell his brother is feeling every single one of the about twenty ounces he had to have drank. He’s still feeling pretty good so he can’t resist bouncing off the bed and rapping on the almost closed bathroom door, loudly. Sam groans louder in response but doesn’t actually acknowledge him. “Hey Sammy, you have a good night with my buddy Jack?” he yells into the bathroom, again probably louder than entirely necessary.

“I’d say go to hell but clearly that wasn’t enough to make you not an asshole,” Sam groans out and Dean laughs.

After breakfast, in which Dean pushes several glasses of water on his brother, they begin to discuss listings. After finally looking into their money situation they decide they have enough to buy something outright, that way there’s no need to deal with a mortgage. ‘Inheritance from an uncle’ Dean practices saying while scrolling through a listing of realtors. It’s got to be a single floor, at least two bedrooms and he definitely wants a garage. Sam agrees with all of his wants and Dean eventually settles on a realtor. He calls and sets up a meeting with a very perky sounding woman named Beverly Penny.

They meet Beverly the next morning and she’s exactly as Dean pictured. A woman in her mid 50s wearing probably the most vibrant pink pant suite he’s ever seen, not that he’s seen many but this woman would give a highlighter a run for its money. She’s pleasant enough and doesn’t seem too bothered by Sam’s silence or his insistence on wearing sunglasses in doors, a habit he picked up during their road trip here after a few too many small children made loud statements. They discuss their budget and what they’re looking for and she asks if they’re willing to look at houses that need some work, which after his year of working as a contractor Dean is willing to do.

It takes four days and more than twice that many houses before she starts thinning her print outs without even taking them to see things. A couple of the houses far surpassed his agreement to take on one that need some work. There’s a difference between some work and building a house. Sam immediately puts his foot down on anything that smells bad or is too close to a major road, Dean assumes his other senses have begun kicking in so he doesn’t really blame him. When they drive up to the ninth house Dean just feels something. The neighborhood isn’t bad; he notes there’s a few kids playing in yards. Beverly is waiting for them in her atrocious green compact and today her pant suite matches it.

There’s a front yard, enough that Dean’s going to have to get a small lawn mower, and the exterior looks to be in good shape. “Siding was replaced in 2010,” Beverly says as soon as Dean’s out of the car. He makes his way to Sam who’s waiting by the trunk. The front door is bright red and he finds himself liking it, remembering Lisa saying something about red doors meaning good luck.

The door opens into a large room, living and dining combined and there’s only a half wall separating the open area from the kitchen. “Dishwasher comes with the house but the rest of the appliances need to be bought,” Beverly explains as she shows them around the space. Sam wanders on his own running his hand over the walls, they’re plain drywall and will need to be painted but it wouldn’t be too much work. In the corner of the living room there’s a fireplace that looks as though it’s never been used. A sliding door leads to a back yard that’s a little smaller than the front and there’s a rusted wash line running across it.

There are three bedrooms down a hallway, two on the right and one on the left. The master bedroom has enough space for a California king, Dean measures twice to make sure. There’s a decent sized bathroom in the master with a tub big enough Sam would actually be able to sit in it and even though his brother is _still_ not saying anything Dean thinks he’d like it. There’s another full bath on the left side of the hall, he doubts they’ll need it but it wouldn’t hurt to have.  The garage is big enough for the Impala and a washer dryer set which pretty much seals the deal for Dean.

Dean asks Beverly to give him some time to speak with Sam and she cast a curious glance over his shoulder but excuses herself outside anyway. “So what do you think?” He asks his brother who’s leaning against the half wall into the kitchen.

Sam shrugs, “How much work will it need?”

Dean looks around, “Every room needs painted and the plywood that’s passing for a back deck will need to all come up but overall it looks in good condition.”

Sam nods and runs his hands over the countertop in front of him. “It seems nice, not too big.” Sam finally admits and Dean smiles because this is the first positive thing he’s said about any of the houses

“So what are we thinking?” Dean pushes as he comes up on the other side of the counter and puts his hand over Sam’s. He’s felt the need to become even more tactile since the loss of Sam’s sight, like maybe he can put all of his emotions though his touch.

Sam sighs and shrugs again, “I do like this one.”

“And,” Dean drags out squeezing his brother’s hand and to his surprise Sam squeezes back.

“And yes, let’s go talk to Beverly,” Sam agrees with a nod.


	7. Seven

****

Seven weeks later Dean steers the Impala into the garage, something he’s steadfast refused to do until it was official.

It’s been a weird two months with Sam and Dean’s pretty certain he has emotional whiplash. Some days Sam’s got a dark cloud hanging over his head and he snaps at anyone and everyone. He didn’t handle the day they measured him for a white cane too well and Dean had nearly gotten his nose broken trying to make him feel better. There was a whole week where he couldn’t drag him out of bed let alone anywhere near the door to their motel room. Other days they’re bickering and joking around like nothing’s changed. Grief is a process every stupid piece of literature tells him and everyone does it differently. Apparently Sam’s decided his grief is a roller coaster from hell and while Dean knows its shitty of him, he ends up drunk more nights than he’s not.

One thing that’s consistent since the second night of being in the hotel room is eventually they end up in the same bed. He’s noticed Sam’s nightmares are hitting in full force, he’s actually pretty sure the entire motel has noticed the nightmares. They always start out in separate beds but usually around two Dean either wakes to feel Sam sliding into bed with him covered in sweat or he wakes to Sam screaming and flailing in the other bed. He’s not sure what’s triggering the nightmares and in the light of day Sam refuses to talk about it so they don’t.

The houses still smells of paint and Sam immediately wrinkles his nose once they pass into the kitchen from the garage. “Smells like latex,” he comments before feeling his way around the wall for a window which he cracks.

The rooms aren’t heavily furnished but Dean managed to catch one of Sam’s good moods and had dragged him out to a furniture store. Sam had chosen most of the furniture, preferring things with texture that he could run his fingers over, Dean had just steered him away from the visually offending pieces. The couch was big and plush, long enough for Sam to lay out on without having to curl up. There was a recliner, Dean’s sole contribution to the selection process, and an arm chair for a lack of what to do with the extra space. Because Sam couldn’t see and therefor argue with him Dean had picked out a 60 inch TV that he’d mounted to the wall.

They hadn’t actually discussed the bedroom situation past Sam throwing himself onto mattresses at Dean’s insistence. They’d spent a very large and shiny penny on the California king in the master bedroom but the full that went into the other bedroom wasn’t uncomfortable. The third, and smallest, bedroom had been turned into an office with a desk and several (empty) bookshelves lining the walls, Sam resolutely refused to even go into the room.

Everything was arranged with a clear path in mind. A carpet separating the living area from the dinning, nothing poking out randomly from the wall. Both bedrooms had a similar ‘U’ shape path and the dresser that was meant to hold Sam’s clothes had knobs where Dean’s had pulls. Sam hadn’t been in the best mood when they’d arranged things and had stomped around like the sullen teenage he’d once been. It wasn’t the most fun thing Dean had done but it eventually got the job done, he was bound and determined to make sure Sam had absolute freedom in their home.

Sam was shuffling around the living room one hand dragging along the back of the chair and Dean spied his white can leaning against the door to the garage.

“I would have offered to carry you over the threshold but I’m pretty certain that would have killed us both,” He jokes and opens the refrigerator where there’s already a six pack waiting.

Sam huffs in his direction before heading down the hall, opening and shutting all the doors. “So who is getting the big room?” he shouts down the hall over his shoulder.

Dean freezes mid swig. Realistically he knows that more often than not they’re both going to end up in the master bedroom but that’s not something either of them are going to admit out loud, at least not this century. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“You can have it,” Sam calls back and Dean hears one of the bedroom doors open and shut again.

It takes less than twenty-four hours for Dean to start feeling unsettled, restless. He doesn’t actually fall asleep before Sam crawls into the bed sniffling and he tries to chalk it up to a new room, which even his subconscious calls bullshit on. After breakfast he wanders around the house, Sam’s on the couch with headphones on and his eyes shut. Dean had immediately signed Sam up for Audible after learning about it from Beverly during the signing and had purchased all of his brother’s favorite books. Since that discovery Sam had seemed to have his stormy moods just a little less.

Dean’s not actually sure what to do with his time and he grabs the laptop and is about to look for a case before he remembers. He made a promise to Sam ‘hunting wasn’t everything’ and he would be damned if he broke it so soon after having moved into their new house. So instead he opens the local newspaper’s website and starts scanning the classifieds for a job. There’s a couple help wanted ads that peak his attention.

He sits on the arm of the couch and pushes at Sam’s big toe. “So I’m thinking I need a job,” He announces when Sam pulls the headphones off.

Sam’s body stiffens for just a seconds, long enough for Dean to notice but short enough for him to know he wasn’t actually supposed to. “What kind of job?”

“Well this Dean Smith was a mechanic,” he answers as he slides down into the space between the end of the couch and Sam’s feet.

Sam nods, “I think it’d be good for you, I mean we should have some form of income anyway and I’m obviously going to be of no use.”

Dean sighs heavily, one of those days then. There’s not much else he can do but lazily draw circles where his hand is resting on Sam’s ankle and mutter, “We’ll find you something.”

One week later he has a new pair of coveralls with “Dean” patched over the left pocket. It wasn’t the first place he’d interviewed but the small garage which only employed four other guys and the owner had been much more Dean’s speed. Gary Rutten had simply opened the lid of some irredeemable clunker and had asked Dean to tell him what was going on and then had gotten quiet the laugh when Dean had summed up his preliminary diagnosis with “Cost of repair is the cost of a new car minus the scrap value.”

That had been a good day because he’d returned to find Sam sitting on the front porch with his feet on the rail. After recounting the story of his interview Dean had managed to coax his brother to go to an Italian restaurant he’d seen not far from the garage. It was their first trip out into the neighborhood and he didn’t even snap too much when the waitress had made a cute couple comment. The pizza was good and Sam had inhaled four garlic knots by himself. The mood had only been dampened after they fell into the master bed together, okay yeah maybe he couldn’t be too irritated with the waitress, and Sam had tipsily whispered “Do you ever worry we won’t be able to have a normal life, that there’s something wrong with us?” He had passed out before Dean could answer. That had kept Dean up for a few more hours, only lulled to sleep after a few shots of something a lot harder than the beer they’d been drinking all night. 


	8. Eight

He’s not entirely sure what Sam does while he’s at work, some days he finds his brother in the same spot he left him, other days he comes home to find the laundry done and Sam sitting outside in the relatively decent mid-September weather listening to one of his books. He tries to ask but Sam usually beats him to the punch and asks how work is going and that derails the whole conversation.

They fall into an evening routine. Dean comes home, grabs a beer and heads to the shower while Sam decides what to have for dinner. They do a lot more grocery shopping here than they ever did at the bunker because Sam is reluctant to go out to eat unless he’s in a very good mood. Once Dean gets out he starts dinner and he tries his hardest to find things for Sam to do to help. Sam officially becomes the one to cube the meat and to chop the veggies. “I’m not the one who wants them so you need to do some work, slacker,” Dean says the first night Sam puts up some resistance from the couch where he’s been most of the day. Sam joins him grudgingly but his mood lightens a little.

Dean’s usually on his third beer by the time they sit to eat, and he insists that they do sit at the table. By then he has enough of a good feeling that he can ignore the silences and short answers Sam gives whenever he tries to talk to him about his day. After dinner Sam loads the dishwasher and Dean wipes down all the counters, they move around each other effortlessly and it’s like the ghost of how they used to fight. Dean switches to whiskey or bourbon by the time they sit on the couch. He always picks what’s on TV and Sam only occasionally asks what’s going on. Most nights they head off to their rooms, Dean taking three fingers worth of his nightcap in with him.

Occasionally Dean gets home and goes through the motions of feeding his brother, making sure he’s somewhat comfortable before announcing he’s going out. He’s picked up a few girls but he’s never had the nerve to bring them back to the house, opting instead for bar bathrooms and alleys.

Even on the nights when Dean goes out his brother still manages to show up in short hours between when he gets home and when he needs to be up for work, often times Sam doesn’t even bother waiting for him to fall asleep but both of them pretend. There’s only been four nights since they moved in that Sam doesn’t wind up in the big bed sometime in the night. Every single one of those mornings, after Dean’s done fighting with his alarm clock, he panics when he realizes his brother’s side is empty. It’s those mornings that the smell of booze hits his face as soon as he gets Sam’s bedroom door open.

Despite the routine and how it should make Dean comfortable, should make them feel safe, with every passing day the itching in his fingers grows until he can feel it humming through all of his muscles. He doesn’t even pretend not to scan the newspaper for cases during his breaks at work. He’s kept his word though and if he finds one he sends out a call to one of the hunters who’s still willing to accept his calls. The hunting community had apparently learned quickly that the Winchesters were no longer hunting though no one had actually known the real reason and Dean hadn’t told any of them. They didn’t need to know about Sam.

It’s the last Friday in September when he spots a case during his lunch break, it reeks of a haunting. Older home, homeowner murdered in their locked bedroom, no witnesses and cops are clueless. A little poking around on his phone tells him that the house has changed hands too frequently for as nice as it is. He’s about to call someone but then he wonders why. He could take care of it tonight, a little salt and burn before heading to the bar and Sam would never have to know. The more he thinks about it the more he realizes it’s not worth bothering someone else over.

Sam’s in his room when Dean gets home and only grunts when he knocks. Dean sighs and grabs his beer before hitting the shower. When he gets out Sam hasn’t moved and just shrugs when Dean asks him what he wants for dinner. “Alright I’m gunna have some left overs and head out to the bar then,” he can’t keep the irritation out of his voice but if Sam notices he doesn’t react just rolls over and slips his headphones on.

Dean checks on his brother one last time before heading out. The house and cemetery are on the other side of Charlotte so it takes him some time before he gets there, ensuring its nice and dark. The ghost is a young man by the name of Jordon Stead who died of an overdose in the basement during a house party in the early 80s. His grave is thankfully near a secluded corner of the cemetery, Dean’s not sure he’s ready to risk grave desecration charges when they’ve only just bought a house here.

It takes forever to dig up the grave without Sam’s help and Dean pulls out his flask when he realizes how similar this is to right after Sam left for Stanford. He’d taken two years to get adjusted to not having his brother by his side back then.

It’s half past eleven when the tip of his shovel finally strikes the coffin.

He’s barely got the lid open when the temperature drops a good twenty degrees around him. As he climbs out of the grave he is immediately thrown back by a pissed looking ghost wearing an Ozzy band t-shirt. He gives the dead guy some props for decent taste before blasting off a round of rock salt in his direction. The sound seems louder than it used to be and almost foreign to his ears. It buys him enough time to douse the kid’s body in salt and gasoline before he returns and sends Dean flying yet again. This time his head connects with the corner of a headstone and oh yeah that’s going to be a nasty bruise. He gets back to the grave and gets it lit before the kid has a chance to come after him again.

Dean watches the grave burn for a while before filling it back in, only a minor bruise but he could easily explain it away at work so all in all not a bad quick job. Sure it’s a little weird to consider that he’s going to keep it from Sam but it was such a small job and he didn’t want to bother anyone about it.

He gets home and he realizes that it’s taken him longer than he had planned, not having counted for the solo digging. When he gets to the room he finds Sam already on the bed curled in on himself, he almost manages to look small. Dean tries to be quiet but gets as far as getting his boots off before Sam sits up slowly. He freezes like a deer in the headlights and waits for Sam to either say something or lay back down. Sam does neither but instead lifts up his head and inhales deep enough Dean can hear it and he begins immediately cursing himself for not heading into the bathroom as soon as he got home.

He’s not going to admit he’s done something because he hasn’t really done anything wrong, a salt and burn is hardly a hunt. Sam still doesn’t say a word, just stands and circles around the bed until he’s standing in front of Dean. He grabs Dean’s hand and rubs his fingertips over his palm, no doubt feeling the new calluses that have formed there. Even in the dark Dean can see the pain on Sam’s face and he opens his mouth to say something just as his brother drops his hand and steps backwards.

Before he can find the words to actually say anything Sam turns and leaves. Just like that Dean’s alone in the dark.


	9. Nine

Sam doesn’t bring up the salt and burn the next morning. He doesn’t say anything about it either that evening when Dean gets home from work. Actually he doesn’t say anything at all. He only leaves his room to come out and grab his plate of dinner before disappearing again. Dean lets him be.

He tries to talk the next day but Sam doesn’t even bothering opening the door to his room, doesn’t even bother coming out for dinner. For the next week Dean’s pretty certain he can count on one hand the amount of minutes he’s actually seen his brother. The more he tries to talk the more Sam pushes away and on the days when Dean finds himself yelling his throat hoarse at the closed door Sam doesn’t come out for meals.

A week and one day and Dean just stops trying. It’s not that he’s given up, he hasn’t. He just can’t keep slamming his head into the wall and expect to get a different result and in this case Sam’s stubbornness is a very thick wall.

He doesn’t knock on the door as he passes on his way to work. He doesn’t call out when he’s back. He merely mumbles “I’m going out” when he leaves for the bar.

He considers their life as he plows through beers five through ten of the day. He feels guilty for going out on the salt and burn, because it wasn’t a fucking hunt, without telling Sam. His brother’s a smart guy and maybe if Dean had explained the fact that it was stupid to call in the cavalry for something so minor he would have dealt with it a little better. So yeah, maybe he screwed that detail up. He’s tried to apologize to his brother but Sam just won’t hear any of it, he’s too busy being angry. Dean recalls that anger is one of the stages of grief and while he’s not trying to get all shrinky about this he can’t help but wonder if some of the anger is misplaced. But misplaced or not Sam is still angry and he has not a single idea of how to fix the situation.

He’s more than a little drunk when he gets home that night.

It’s Sunday so he starts off the day by barging into Sam’s room, privacy locks are an absolute joke. Sam bolts up right at the intrusion, a hand groping around under his pillow for a gun that’s not there. Dean feels a little guilty for the scare when he realizes what he’s looking for. “Rise and shine,” He all but yells.

“Dude what the hell!” Sam spits back, four more words than he’s said to him in a week.

“Get your ass out of bed and dressed, we’re going to explore the neighborhood.”

Sam snorts and lays back down, burying his face into the pillow.

“Oh no you don’t,” Dean says and crosses the room to the bed. Sam doesn’t react fast enough and he easily gets ahold of his brother’s ankle. Sam immediately starts kicking and trying to twist out of the hold but Dean just as easily turns, tucking the leg under his arm, and starts walking back out of the room slowly dragging Sam with him. Sam continues to halfheartedly fight right up until his shoulders slip off the bed and lands with a solid thud.

“Fine I’ll get up just stop fucking dragging me,” Sam curses and with one strong kick he manages to easily dislodge his legs from Dean’s hold.

“Where are we going?” he asks standing by the front door almost an hour later. He’s got his sunglasses on and his hands are shoved into the pocket of a hoodie that Dean thinks might have been his own at one point.

“Exploring the neighborhood,” Dean answers as he grabs Sam’s cane from by the door and shoves it at his brother’s chest.

“Dean” Sam warns and doesn’t pulls his hands from his pockets.

Dean sighs, “No you have to use it. You do fine at home, that’s great but you’re never going to be able to leave the house by yourself if you don’t.” Sam’s lips press into a tight thin line but he reluctantly pulls a hand out and takes the cane.

It’s already in the mid-sixties when he drags his brother out of the front door and there are already some kids outside playing. Dean has to physically force his brother to hold out the cane and then has to restrain himself from holding onto his elbow. It’s slow going but he bites his lip and walks just close enough to be able to grab Sam’s arm during any missteps, which in the beginning there are plenty to warrant his hovering.

They only go about five blocks before Dean turns them around. Sam’s visibly relieved when he tells him they’re heading back home. This surprisingly does great things for Sam’s confidence. The blocks back are done perfectly and Sam even manages to catch the four inch lift onto their front porch without tripping himself.

As Dean works the key out of his pocket Sam leans into him, forehead resting between his shoulder blades. “I’m sorry,” his brother whispers softly and Dean smiles to himself.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” He says as he gets the front door open.

The rest of the day goes so well Dean’s practically floating when he and Sam clink beer bottles after dinner. When he wakes the next day alone he brushes off the disappointed feeling and decides not to look too closely into that particular emotion. Despite this they fall back into their same routine except Dean decides the walk needs to be something they do every day.

So instead of him watching TV and Sam sitting quietly by his side he drags them out the front door after dinner. They even meet a few of the neighbors on their evening walks. Its during their first interaction with one of them that he realizes that he can no longer protest their “gay couple” assumptions by yelling brother into the void. Because they’re not, at least this version of them. So he simply insists that they’re just friends and pretends he can’t feel Sam tensing every time he does.

Three weeks after sliding back into their new routine and Sam’s standing by the counter poking around some of the shopping bags. “Uh why all the candy?” he asks as he fondles a giant bag full of mini candy bars.

“It’s Halloween tonight ding dong,” Dean answers as he snatches the bag from his brother.

Sam tilts his head clearly confused, “Uh dude, we don’t celebrate Halloween what with actually killing Samhain that one time.”

“No, Sam and Dean Winchester killed Samhain.” Dean informs his brother as he starts trying to open the bag. “Sam Wesson and Dean Smith are two relatively normal guys who will be expected to hand out candy to a bunch of ankle biters in costume.”

Sam snorts. “Relatively normal unrelated guys who bought a house together and are now going to hand out candy.”

“Dude, don’t you start that. I have enough problems with the entire neighborhood thinking we’re gay for each other,” Dean gripes and he pulls on the bag with so much force that the it finally gives, sending the candy flying through the air. “Son of a bitch.”

“That’s my big strong man, doesn’t even know his own strength,” Sam says in an attempt at a feminine voice.

Dean grumbles as he tries to shove the candy into a pile using his foot, “At least you acknowledge you’re the woman in this relationship.”

“I don’t know, you’re so pretty I bet you’d look stunning in a dress.” Sam barely gulps out before he throws his head back laughing.

Dean wants to snark back but he’s completely dumb as he watches Sam doubled over with laughter. It’s probably the best sound he’s heard in months and he realizes that’s because he hasn’t heard his brother laugh since before the accident. He wouldn’t admit it, probably not even with a gun to his head, but he’d gladly record the sound over one of his Zeppelin tapes just so he could hear it whenever he wanted.

Later when they hand out candy Sam actually forgoes his sunglasses. “It’s Halloween, I won’t freak out anyone too badly.” He says so casually that Dean misses the flash of sadness over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do yourselves a favor and remember this is Supernatural and I'm an asshole, so don't get too comfortable.


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Suicide attempt/overdose  
> Accurate depictions of overdose.

Sometimes Dean forgets that even though their IDs no longer say it that he and Sam are still Winchesters, and therefor cursed. Of course the universe has no problem reminding him when he gets too comfortable. He hasn’t truly allowed to get himself comfortable in the past few years, hell had taught him never to trust the stillness and every day after had taught him that the storm was always right overhead.

How fitting that it was actually storming on the day their quiet new existence fell down around him.

November 2nd had never set well with Dean, not since he was a four year old standing in front of a burning house. Mostly it was small things that compounded the discomfort with the day. So when he woke and realized what day it was he actually contemplated calling off of work. He didn’t though, tried to shake off the dread and go about his day as usual.

During lunch he was still uneasy enough that he called Sam who thankfully answered. He sounded a little off like he’d just been woken up, which was a possibility. Sam didn’t even bother to ask why he’d called just muttered that he was fine. The rest of the day had gone on just like any other and by the time he clocked out, early because a couple people had canceled appointments due to the weather, Dean had managed to tramp down most of the underlying panic

Sam was in his room when he got home, music playing loud enough Dean could hear it in the garage. He made the mental note to harass his brother the next time he complained about the volume while out driving. He knocked on the door in passing after his shower but neither Sam nor the volume moved.

It was as he kicked open the garbage can to toss in his empty beer bottle that the little hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Sitting on the top of his breakfast mess was a small orange medicine bottle. Vicodin which had been prescribed to Sam prior to them leaving the hospital in Wyoming. While he was certain his brother had never actually taken any the bottle was completely empty, the cap was screwed back on.

He’s at Sam’s door without ever having realized he moved. “Hey Sam.” He yells trying to compete with the volume of the music, it’s classical he realizes now. “Sam I gotta ask you something.” His fist is pounding into the door hard enough it’s bowing with the effort. No answer. He tries the knob and sighs a little with relief when it’s unlocked, not that he couldn’t knock it down if he needed.

The relief is short lived. Sam’s laid out on the bed on his back, _wrong_ Sam sleeps mostly on his stomach. His one hand is resting across his stomach and the phone is resting beneath it, _wrong_ Sam always sticks it on the nightstand so he doesn’t lose it in the bed. It’s the too shallow rise and fall of his chest that gets Dean moving to flip on the lights. Sam’s lips are blue and suddenly Dean feels like he’s been dipped into a tub of ice, he’s numb. His mind flashes back to just over a month ago and the ghost of the boy in an Ozzy t-shirt.

He’s on the bed in seconds, fingers fixed to the pulse point in his brother’s neck. The pulse is too slow. Then he’s got Sam by his shirt collar, shaking, but his head simply whips back and forth with Dean’s force. Even when he slaps him hard enough to bruise Sam doesn’t stir.

“911 What’s your emergency?” A voice chirps at him and he realizes he’s grabbed Sam’s phone and dialed.

“Please my br-“ And he’s not sure why he catches himself, it doesn’t matter right now. “my friend, I think he’s overdosed.”

He’s giving out the address on autopilot not sure how since all he can hear in his brain is static. He jams his finger down Sam’s throat but he’s so far gone that his gag reflex doesn’t kick in. The voice on the other end of the phone is asking him if the door’s unlocked and he can’t remember, she’s asking him to open it which he would find funny if he could actually feel anything considering there’s not a thing in the world that would convince him to leave his brother right now.

Apparently the door was unlocked because there’s now other people in the room and he allows himself to be pushed off the bed. He’s still got Sam’s phone clutched in his hand and he finally thinks to hang up. He feels like he floating, like it’s one of those dreams where you watch yourself from the ceiling because there’s no way this is actually happening.

It is though, and he’s sure the paramedics are asking him questions but he’s not sure he’s answering them. He stands in his spot by the wall as they pull in the stretcher. Dean barely notices the frigid November rain when he follows them out the front door, trailing mindlessly after Sam. He’s about to climb into the back of the ambulance with his brother when a hand on his chest stops him. “We need you to follow us,” the man tells him and Dean’s going to protest but the doors just slam in his face.

He follows the ambulance closely and for a few miles he’s almost bumper to bumper with them. He lets a bit of a gap form between them when the thought floats into his mind that in this weather if they stop too quickly he’d probably end up killing everyone. Still, they only get to the hospital seconds before him but trying to park slows him down, the emergency room lot is almost completely full. He thinks _fuck it_ as he pulls into a reserved spot.

By the time he gets to the ER Sam’s inside and one of the paramedics is working an Ambu bag over his face and when Dean sees it he feels the first sharp stab of pain ricocheting through his chest. It doesn’t last and the numb feeling washes over him again. There’s a nurse in front of him when he tries to step into the room but he must say or do something because she scurries away to a woman who’s obviously the doctor. The woman looks up and motions him in.

“What did he take?” She asks and she’s shining a light down Sam’s throat.

“Vicodin,” Dean answers and realizes how hollow his voice is sounding.

“Do you know how much? When?”

Dean tries to remember because he knows he looked at the bottle less than thirty minutes ago “the entire bottle” he finally answers before adding, “I talked to him around noon and he was fine.”

Dean sees it first, probably because he’s the only one not rushing in circles attaching wires to Sam. A small tremor that starts in his left leg and he goes to say something about it but suddenly his brother’s entire body is twisting on the bed and everyone starts moving impossibly faster. They’re shouting at each other but only a few of the words permeate the fog in his head _seizure_ and _intubate_ are the ones that mean the most.  

This time Dean allows himself to be pushed backwards out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned you that I'm an asshole.


	11. Eleven

 

 _Dean I feel like I owe you an explanation, I know letters are customary but that won’t really work for me, you know? I know you’ll go through my stuff looking for a reason so I figured I’d just make it easier to find._  
_I guess I should start with I’m sorry and it’s not your fault even though I know you’ll blame yourself anyway. Just try not to, this was my decision._  
_I know it’s a bad day but I figure compared to losing your mother nothing else could make it much worse, so I’m sorry about that I guess._  
_It’s not your fault, please. I’ve been thinking about it since that night I got lost in the bunker but you seemed so sure things would get better and I wanted to believe, I really did. I tried when we got this house, I thought a new start would help me feel better… less useless I guess. Except I realized that I’m still useless and you’re once again sacrificing everything you love for me. I’m sorry for making you do that. You shouldn’t have to give up hunting just because I can’t. I mean you managed for four years without me before but I know you feel guilty with me hanging around, like you have to stop for me._  
_I’m not blaming you, it’s not your fault okay? I’m just trying to explain this and I know it’s coming out all wrong but I just can’t seem to get my thoughts straight. I’m sorry about that._  
_I guess there’s a lot of things I’m sorry about and I know I’ve already apologized for most of it but I’m still sorry for all that stuff to. There’s other stuff I’m sorry about that maybe you know and maybe you don’t. So if you know, I’m sorry about that as well._  
_It’s not your fault and I’m sorry about this too, just so you know._

 

Dean’s listened to the message at least six times in the past twenty four hours. He had remembered the extra phone in his pocket shortly after some hospital social worker had come to speak to him about what had happened. They’d asked if he thought it was an intentional overdose which of course it was, a person doesn’t just accidentally swallow thirty pills. He was eternally thankful that all the guns had been locked in the back of the Impala.

0124 – Sam’s passcode for just about anything that required one. Dean had been sort of amused when he’d learned he and Jessica shared a birthday.

The screen unlocked right to a voice file that had been created maybe twenty minutes after their lunchtime phone call. He’d almost thrown the phone against the hospital wall after he heard it for the first time and he’d only stopped because the doctors still wouldn’t answer if he was going to be alright. He needed to hear his brother’s voice even if it was him painfully trying to explain why he’d thought it necessary to kill himself. Leave it to Sam to think killing himself would somehow make Dean’s life better.

It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.

Over and over until it was all he heard when he looked at his brother. Hadn’t they just been here not even six months ago? Him sitting next to his brother’s unconscious body wondering if he would ever wake up, it was beginning to be a disturbing trend in Dean’s life.

The doctors had asked if Sam had ever attempted suicide before and Dean had said no. Then he’d thought about it. Sam had willingly jumped face first into hell, killing himself. He’d signed on for the trials and had apparently known they would kill him. He’d kneeled before Dean willingly when he thought he was going to kill him on Death’s orders. He’d been more than willing to be the one who went on the suicide mission to kill Amara. So in retrospect maybe the last six years of Sam’s life had been one active suicide attempt just none as noticeable as this.

When they finally pulled the tubes that had spent 24 hours breathing for Sam while he’d had seizure after seizure they’d asked for permission to put restraints on him, Dean had given it. He knew Sam wasn’t going to wake up alone because he wouldn’t leave his side but he didn’t want to be the one to hold him down.

He was glad he did when Sam came to on the fifth because the very first thing he’d tried to do was to sit up out of the bed. Dean hadn’t said anything when he’d notice his brother moving and he wasn’t sure if Sam knew he was in the room.

“What the hell,” Sam mumbled to himself and then jumped when Dean cleared his throat.

“I got off work early,” He says after a few minutes.

“Oh.”

Dean balls his fists into his lap. “Oh?” He repeats instead of throwing punches. “They’re amazed to managed to swallow an entire bottle full of pills, said you had to be pretty determined to do it.”  

Sam finally has the decency to look sheepish. “Dean I’m-“

“I don’t want to ever fucking hear you say that word again. What are you sorry for? Not being successful? Are you sorry that I got home early and found you barely alive? Are you sorry that I had to watch you have fifteen fucking seizures in an hour because your fucking body had processed too much for them to pump out?” Dean’s crying and he doesn’t care who notices because for the first time since he saw that bottle in the trash he’s actually feeling things. The pain griping his heart is the kind that makes a person crawl into a bottle and never leave.

“Dean.” Sam sounds like he wants to say _it_ again but he’s wise enough not to.

“I sold my soul for you Sam. I let demon’s walk for you,” He begins but his voice breaks.

Tears are leaking out of the corners of Sam’s eyes and he’s trying to blink them away. “I’m… I know I screwed up Dean. I know I hurt you and I’m- that wasn’t my intention.” It’s how badly he’s struggling to speak without saying sorry that feels like a knife twisted in Dean’s gut, he hadn’t realized how often Sam said the words.

“There has never and will never be a time when I’m better without you, Sam.” Dean finally manages through his tears.

Sam nods. “Okay, okay. Just, please, undo these,” he tugs at his wrist restraints, “we can go home and I’ll try harder. Okay?”

“No.”

“No?” Sam asks and he’s genuinely confused.

“No,” Dean repeats, “We go home right now and nothing changes. You’re staying until the doctors feel it’s safe to bring you home.” When he’d signed the papers to put Sam in restraints he’d made the decision that they were going to do this the right way. He’s not going to live in fear of finding his brother dead everyday he gets home from work.

“I’m staying? What if I don’t want to stay?” Sam suddenly challenges and Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t expecting it.

“Well I’m not helping you out and I’m not taking you home until a doctor tells me it’s safe,” Dean answers.

Sam swallows and nods but even that looks broken and Dean feels guilty. He stands and walks over to Sam resting one hand against his cheek, a thumb brushing away at the tears that are still falling. “I’m not leaving you to rot, okay? I will be here every single day but things have gotta change. I can’t ever see you like that again,” he says and presses a kiss to Sam’s forehead, “I can’t survive that again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had written the previous chapter when I posted last night but it felt cruel to post it without this chapter to at least make somethings a little better.


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay guys. I got sick and then my youngest ended up in the hospital with the flu so not much brain power was left.

Sam spent three weeks in the hospital in total, two of those on the psych level. All but three of those days had been because Sam agreed to be there, because no matter how much Dean was willing to fight for it after 72 hours Sam was able to check himself out. But he stayed though much to Dean’s surprise his brother resisted hard against the idea of medication.

“I don’t need pills, I can handle it,” Sam had hissed after Dean had pushed the doctor back into the hall with the promise of speaking to his brother. “I fight- I used to fight monsters, I can handle this.”

Dean had been equally surprised to find himself advocating for them, anything for Sam is what it came down to. “Yeah and you fight monsters with weapons, Sammy, this is no different than that. You use what helps and will get the job done and if right now that’s you taking pills then that’s what it takes.”

Sam relented after Dean’s speech, probably just as shocked by his brother’s persistence, and after a week of observation on his new medication they’d found themselves in the resident psychiatrist’s office listening to the importance of keeping up on them once Sam went home. Then just like that Dean was helping load his brother’s duffle bags into the Impala, and it didn’t escape his notice that Sam had more luggage from a three week hospital stay than he’d had in total for over half of his life.

It wasn’t like Dean hadn’t expected everything to move as quickly as it did, he knew that was the point of the hospital – to get them home again. He was just startled at how nervous he was as he watched Sam climb into the passenger seat. How could he keep his brother safe when the biggest threat to him was himself?

The whole time Sam had been away he’d barely spent any time at the house apart from sleeping. He’d worked open to close every day the garage was open and spent the evenings with Sam at the hospital until visiting hours were over and the tired looking aide reminded him he had to leave. When he was home he’d ended up spending his nights passed out on the couch, there was a liquor store receipt that explained how he found sleep those nights.

They’d ended up at the grocery store less than two hours after arriving home, Sam having realized the refrigerator and the most of the cupboards were empty. It had almost made Dean giddy when Sam offered to come with him, something he’d never done in the time before the hospital. He wasn’t sure if the meds were actually working this quick or if Sam had adopted a “fake it til you make it” mentality or if Sam was just tired of being cooped up. Either way it was a good change in pace. It was in the freezer aisle that Dean realized Sam’s time in the hospital had brought with another positive change, his brother was no longer tentative with his cane.

“Can I help?” Sam asked from the couch as Dean was starting dinner.

“Yeah, you get to cube the cheese.” Dean agreed and pretended not to watch the entire time Sam held the knife in his hand. He knew it was irrational and Sam would probably more likely stab him if he knew about it.

Dinner was mac and cheese, strictly for nostalgic purposes, except Dean was actually taking the time to make the cheese sauce from scratch instead of a powder. Sam inhaled a total of three bowls and just like earlier Dean pretended not to watch him. This time he was staring because it was finally hitting him how much he’d missed having his brother around. Dean was the one to suggest a walk after dinner, eager to find their old routine again.

“Where’s the bus stop?” Sam had asked as they hit the second block.

“Why?”

“I can’t drive dumbass and you’re not going to be around the take me to all my appointments,” Sam said and Dean was certain there was an eye roll behind it even if he couldn’t see it.

He wanted to object and say he was going to be just fine taking Sam to his new psychiatrist’s office but before he did he realized the lie of it. He wouldn’t, not forever, and maybe riding the bus would make his brother feel less of a burden. “It’s up this way.” Dean found himself saying before he was able to put much more thought into it. “I can look up the bus schedule when we get home and figure out what you need.”

Dean knew he’d said the right thing when he caught Sam’s smile out of the corner of his eye. Then without warning Sam delivered a sharp whack to his shin with his cane. “Ow what the fuck?” Dean cursed glaring over at his brother.

“Oh I’m sorry was that you?” Sam asked with the mask of innocence he’d lost when he was thirteen.

“Oh fuck you, ya little shit,” Dean groaned and smacked his brother across the back of the head. Sam laughed and it was enough to make Dean laugh along with him.

He kept his word and walked Sam to the bus stop and when they got home he looked up the bus routes. Sam was visibly relieved when they learned that he would only need to use the one bus to get within a few blocks of his doctor’s office and again when Dean agreed they would take the bus for his first visit instead of driving so that Sam could feel it out before doing it alone. Though he’d agreed to that for the selfish purpose of knowing exactly where his brother would be.

It was almost eleven when Sam finally stood up from the couch and announced he was tired. Dean didn’t actually have work until the following Monday, he’d only realized at the grocery store that Thanksgiving was on Thursday and Gary had given him the next few days off.

“What’s up?” He asked when he realized Sam was still standing awkwardly in front of the sofa, hands playing with the hem of his shirt.

“I-uhm. I was wondering… I haven’t really slept well lately. I was wondering…” Sam trailed off obviously unsure of how to ask for what he wanted.

Dean got it though, knew exactly what he was asking for. “Yeah, come on,” he said and stood up brushing past Sam on the way to his room. Sam followed him after a few minutes.

It was silent as they got ready for bed and Dean realized it was the first time since Sam was eight that he’d actually asked before crawling into bed with him. Even after they laid down and Dean had shut off his light he could feel the tension between them. Maybe it was he was now hyper aware of any tension between them because he was suddenly hyperaware about anything concerning Sam right now. Which is probably why he did what he did.

Rolling up onto his side so he was facing Sam he saw the extremely controlled breaths his brother was taking. Dean sighed and reached out grabbing his brother’s wrist. Ignoring the startled jump Sam gave he pulled until they both ended up in the center. They didn’t do this, at least not while awake, occasionally he’d wake with Sam having scooted into his space or vice versa. Once they’d settled into place (and they weren’t cuddling) Dean ended up with Sam hair in his face. He didn’t really mind; it was comforting after three weeks of sleeping in an empty house. “I missed you,” he said and it was no louder than a breath but Sam heard him before he nodded, his hair tickling Dean’s nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From personal experience there's often a weird feeling of dread for both parties when taking someone home from the hospital or a rehab center after a suicide attempt. The caretaker worries about not being able to be with their loved one 24/7 and the person worries that by coming home everything they accomplished will backslide. So there's a lot of urgency from both parties for things to be "normal" again even when logically they know it will take time.


	13. Thirteen

Waiting was never Dean’s strong point, patience wasn’t exactly a virtue he considered himself to have, rarely actually having the need to do much of it. Waiting in a doctor’s office was probably the hardest thing he’d ever done. They never really saw doctors growing up unless their lives were at stake and it set a precedent for his adult life and how he felt towards medical personnel. Then again when he thought about it, and he’d been forced to examine their lives far too much for his liking in the past few months, their own lives were at stake right now because he’d long ago realized that without Sam there was no purpose for him either.

Sam was currently on the other side of a heavy oak door, no doubt purchased with the privacy of a psychiatrist’s office in mind, talking to his new doctor. It’d been some of the longest 45 minutes Dean had ever sat through and there was still another fifteen to go. He’d considered flirting with the receptionist, a pretty blond in her mid-thirties, but had decided maybe it was in bad taste. His remaining option was a stack of year old Reader’s Digests and he’d already read through the joke pages – twice.

Doctor Chase, Sam’s new psychiatrist, was a kind looking woman who looked younger than her secretary. She’d greeted them in the waiting room before asking Dean to take a seat and ushering Sam into her office. Dean could literally hear nothing that was going on on the other side of the door and he wondered if the walls had been insulated to be sound proof, or maybe he was just paranoid.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Sam but there was only so much Sam could talk about without compromising their previous lifestyle. Dean hadn’t actually thought to ask what Sam had told doctors about his injury or their life before moving to Charlotte. He’d spent the entire ride into the city wondering if it had been a good idea to push Sam into seeing someone. There were very few people that their lives made sense to and speaking from past experience even revealing a tenth of what they had done and seen in their lives wouldn’t do much other than land Sam, and potentially himself, in the loony bin.

The good news is he’d been so preoccupied that Sam had gotten good practice navigating from the bus stop to the office without much help.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, his brother was suddenly standing in the space of the previously closed door, Doctor Chase behind him. “You ready to go?” Sam repeated.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Dean nodded scrubbing his hand over his face before standing up.

“It was good to meet you Sam,” Doctor Chase said stepping between the two of them. “I look forward to seeing you next week. And it was a pleasure meeting you as well Mister Smith,” She finished with a hand offered to Dean. Dean shook her hand without a word and grabbed Sam’s elbow before starting out of the office, pretending not to see the scrutinizing look the doctor gave their backs.

“You like her?” He asked once they were safely outside.

Sam pulled his arm free, “yeah she was nice, didn’t push too much.” He turned and started in the direction of their stop, Dean followed closely.

“So uh I know it’s not my place and I’m not asking you to tell me everything you tell her but what exactly have you told her?”

“Are you asking if I’ve told her I spent three decades of my life hunting monsters?” Sam asked turning his head towards Dean, brows furrowed around his unseeing eyes.

“Well… I figured you didn’t say that because you’re not on a one-way trip to a padded room,” he shrugged.

Sam chuckled and stopped abruptly, Dean was confused for a moment until Sam tapped his cane against a bus shelter. Sam had been getting even better getting around without Dean dogging his every step, apparently more aware that himself today. “Man you suck,” Sam teased playfully. “And no I’m just kind of being vague, it feels weird to lie to my shrink – ya know? She’s not really pushing for a sob story.” He sat on the bench. “We actually talked more about the future.”

Dean leaned against one of the shelter walls and studied his brother. Sam was hunched over again, broad shoulders cave inwards like he was trying to make himself smaller. “You don’t have to tell me what you talked about, not my business.”

“Actually it is. She gave me the number for a tutor. I told her I liked reading and haven’t been able to since well… you know.” Sam gestured to his face.

Dean couldn’t help laugh as he sat next to his brother, knees touching. “Knowing you, you’ll have that down in like three weeks.”

Sam smiled brightly at the compliment before it slipped a little. “Yeah about that, there are some free programs but the wait list is pretty long and I feel guilty taking advantage of them… so this is gunna cost some money and I was wondering…”

“Dude, don’t worry about it. I can pick up some overtime,” Dean interrupted knocking his knee into Sam’s.

Sam laughed, “That’s not actually what I was gunna say, I mean thanks though. Doctor Chase actually suggested I should get a job, something to get me out of the house and give me something to do.”

Dean felt his stomach twist but before he could say anything the bus pulled up.

“What did the steak do to you?” Sam asked suddenly during dinner and it was only then that Dean realized he’d been hacking his steak to pieces, knife scrapping across the plate with each cut.

“Nothing,” He answered and it sounded too sharp even to his ears. He could see on Sam’s face that he didn’t buy it for a second.

“And I’m the one who needs a shrink,” Sam chided before stuffing a green bean in his mouth.

“I’m not the one who swallowed a bottle of pills,” Dean snapped and immediately cringed.

Sam’s mouth was hanging open. “Did you just…” he spat before standing, “go fuck yourself Dean.”

Dean almost yelled when Sam’s door slammed so hard the whole house shook. “Fucking moron,” he breathed instead. It was aimed at himself and himself alone. He hadn’t actually meant to say it, immediately regretted it as the words left his mouth… regretted it even more when he saw the look on Sam’s face.

After a few minutes of hating himself he realized he had to actually go apologize. He was no longer living under the assumption that Sam was fine, that he’d always get over the stupid things Dean said before he thought. “Sam?” he called and stood up from the table.

He knocked once when he reached Sam’s door, “Sam I wasn’t- it wasn’t what I meant to say.”

Nothing.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”

He heard the shuffling behind the door and then the click of the privacy lock before the door opened just a crack. “You’re a dick.” Was all Sam said.

“Look dude, it wasn’t what I wanted to say.” Dean admitted trying to nudge the door open a little further with his foot but Sam held it firm.

“Still a dick,” Sam repeated.

“Fine, I’m a dick it was probably the worst possible thing for me to say,” Dean tried again.

Sam pulled the door open another inch, “So why say it?”

Dean shrugged and toed at the carpet, “I dunno, look I said I’m sorry what else do you want?”

Sam gave a long sigh and turned away from the door walking to his bed, “I want you to talk to me, Dean. I want you to tell me why you’d rather insult me than talk about what’s bothering you.”

Dean followed his brother into the room, trying not to look around. He hadn’t actually been inside the room since that night. “What so a couple sessions and you think you’re a shrink?”

“Dean” it was a warning, Sam’s shoulders were squared and he looked ready to kick him back out.

“Okay, okay. It’s the job thing.” Dean confessed.

Sam looked confused, “The me getting a job thing?”

“Yeah.” Emboldened by the fact he hadn’t actually gotten punch Dean sat on the end of the bed next to Sam.

“Why?”

“Seriously dude?”

“Yes, why are you bothered by the idea of me having a job? Isn’t that normal? What we’ve been trying to do since we moved here?” Sam asked, his whole body was stiff and he was being careful not to touch Dean.

“Yeah I know, I’m just worried,” Dean started. “I don’t doubt you, it’s not that. I’m just… worried.”

“About me getting a job?” Sam asked looking confused.

Dean shrugged purposely brushing his shoulders against Sam’s. “I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

Sam laughed, “Plenty of blind people have jobs, Dean. I need this, I need to do something. I can’t just sit around waiting for you to come home every night like some fifties housewife, we don’t have enough gin for that.”

“Alright, I’ll reserve my worrying for the fact that you just compared yourself to June Cleaver.” Dean agreed and laughed when Sam playfully punched his shoulder.

“Admit it, I’m not much of a June… I kinda suck at cooking,” Sam said after a moment and he leaned into Dean knocking him a little.

“That ain’t a lie,” he agreed. Looking sideways at Sam he couldn’t help but smile because Sam was smiling and it was such a rare thing. It wasn’t his full teeth dazzling one, it was a small smile that softened the corners of his eyes a little.

Dean wondered briefly when exactly he started categorizing his brother’s smiles, probably sometime after Sam returned from hell. He’d spent months with someone in Sam’s body but none of the smiles had been right, they’d all made his skin crawl. After that he’d become a little obsessed with figuring out exactly what had set robo-Sam apart from the real deal, aside from the whole soul thing.

“Dean?” Sam asked and Dean realized he was suddenly leaning into Sam’s space, a lot closer than he had been a few seconds ago.

“Yeah?” he asked quietly still focused on the corners of his brother’s mouth. They were close enough that he could feel the warmth of Sam’s breath ghosting across his face and he realized how odd it was that neither of them thought it strange. That there was practically no space between them and even though Dean knew objectively that it was weird he had no problems with it.

“Dean?” Sam swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed, catching Dean’s eye. Before the crater and before Sam had woken up with white eyes instead of hazel, Dean had never really looked at his brother. He’d saw him sure, watched him every day but the only times he’d ever been able to catalogue his features he’d been dead or pretty damn close.

Suddenly it occurred to Dean what he was doing and he straightened up. “Yeah- yeah” He said standing. “I’m getting a beer, want one?” He left the room without actually waiting to hear Sam’s answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack - this is officially my longest fic and it's not even finished. 
> 
> Not my normal posting time but I need to reserve my time this evening for 11.16 tonight.


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random Facts  
> Charlotte, NC was listed by the AFB (American Foundation for the Blind) as the number one place to live for people affected by blindness. There are several large resources for the blind which attracts a decent sized blind community. (See I didn't just pull the location out of my ass)   
> Learning braille is actually generally easier for previously seeing adults because they've already got the language skills there they just need to transfer them. For someone like Sam I can't imagine this would be too difficult.

The holidays came and went much as they did for the Winchester’s during any other year. Christmas snuck up on them and left them scrambling for gifts. Dean felt he got the better end of that deal and he felt just a little guilty when Sam handed him a used Martin 6 string, which upon looking up the series he learned cost almost two grand new. Sam had blushed down right magenta when he’d explained Colby, Sam’s brand new braille tutor, had taken him to a thrift shop and he’d only chosen it because it was the most in tune one in the store. Dean had ended up getting Sam a new iPod, having noticed Sam’s phone was constantly out of memory due to all the new audio files on it.

They’d ended up agreeing to spend New Year’s Eve at home. It would be cheaper to stay home had been Dean’s excuse but in reality he’d been worried about the crowds and Sam, not that he was planning on admitting that any time soon. They’d both been wasted by 10:30, Dean having insisted they try the absinthe he’d seen on the store shelves. By eleven Sam was literally flat on his back in the back yard, laying on the comforter he’d dragged from his room for just this purpose. Dean, still mostly upright, was leaning against the frame watching his brother while Ryan Seacrest yelled in the background.

“I miss the stars,” Sam had said eventually, a little too much emotion in his voice. Dean had found himself drunk stumbling to his brother’s side and yanking him into a hug. Sam’s weight ended up dragging them both down onto the comforter. Sam ending up partially on top of him which Dean found he didn’t mind because he was somehow still warm despite being out in thirty-degree weather for half an hour. He’d almost been asleep when Sam began quietly counting with the countdown being screamed from the TV inside. At exactly midnight Sam tilted his head up, lips brushing against the lobe of Dean’s ear as he whispered “Happy New Year, Dean.” Dean’s entire body shivered and he told himself it was the cold. He’d managed to sober up enough to drag them both inside where they passed out fully dressed on top of the bed covers.

The week before Dean’s birthday Sam went and got a job. A small book store-slash-coffee shop that had just as many books in braille as it did in print. It was the same spot that he’d been taking his twice weekly braille lessons and Dean couldn’t have imagined a more perfect place for his geeky little brother. Even so apprehension still vibrated through him on the morning of Sam’s first day. It was only training but Dean wasn’t even able to drop Sam off, having pulled the opening shift at the garage for the week.

Dean got off two hours before Sam and by that point all his nerves were shot. He found himself steering towards the bookstore, he just needed to check and see Sam was okay and then he’d feel a lot better. He couldn’t help but remember Sam’s first day of kindergarten which also happened to be the first time Dean cut class. He’d only been in fourth grade himself but had spent most of the morning agonizing over how Sammy was doing on his first day, that had been back when Sam was the shortest kid in his class by a few inches. Dean had only made it to lunch before the need to check on his brother had gotten the better of him. A too trusting teacher and a bathroom hall pass had gotten him a free ticket to the kindergarten wing. Sam, of course, had been fine and Dean had felt like he could finally breath once he spied his brother through window in the door.

Today was no different and Dean was able to spot Sam within seconds of parking, thanks to large front windows. Sam was leaning against the counter, back to the windows, and there was a woman standing next to him talking. Dean didn’t have to see his brother’s face to know they were flirting; the woman was lit up like a 100watt light bulb which seemed to be the reaction of most people when Sam chose to turn on the charm. She obviously was an employee, a maroon apron around her waist, and Dean wondered if she was the owner, Lily or something, that Sam had mentioned. Dean originally planned on going inside but after watching Sam and the woman for a few more minutes he decided it was best to investigate the bar two blocks back.

Two and a half beers later and it was finally four o’clock, the official end of Sam’s shift so Dean drained the last of his bottle and made his way back to the shop. This time he actually managed to make it inside before spotting his brother. Sam was standing in an opened “Employees Only” door leisurely putting his coat on and talking to someone out of sight.

When the bell on the door rang the woman reappear, clearly who Sam had been chatting with, and beamed brightly at Dean, “Hello!”

Dean swallowed down a sarcastic comment and instead tilted his head towards Sam, “I’m here for that one.”

Sam let out a breathy laugh, the one he did when embarrassed, “I thought you would have gone home after work.”

“I figured I could stay out a little longer and we could pick up dinner on the way home.”

“Oh right!” Sam announced suddenly taking a step towards Dean, “Dean this is Lucy, Lucy this is Dean.”

The woman, Lucy apparently, held out her hand towards Dean. “Nice to meet you Dean, Sam’s told me about you.” Dean took the offered hand and wondered if she was always so cheerful.

“Yeah, nice to meet you.” He agreed before dropping her hand and turning towards Sam. “So you ready to go?”

They ended up grabbing Mexican on the way home, Sam making around thirty comments about how it was going to be too cold to open up the windows before agreeing to it. Dean had rolled his eyes and intentionally bought himself two bean burritos snickering when Sam groaned under his breath.  

“How was work?” Dean asked finally as they sat down to eat.

Sam shrugged, “Uhm It was good,” he said after a moment.

“Lucy?” Dean pushed.

“Lucy is nice, she’s the owner and I think probably spends more time there than she does at home.” Sam said in between bites of his enchilada. “She’s scary smart and probably has read more books than me. Actually she was named after Lucy from The Chronicles of Narnia and that kind of set the tone for the rest of her life”

“So she’s your kind of girl?” Dean said and he immediately hoped it came out teasingly, which was what he intended but after saying it he thinks he might have missed the mark.

Sam pauses mid bite, as if he hadn’t considered that yet, “Yeah I guess. I mean she’s my boss so that’s not likely. But at least we get along.” Dean nods continues to eat but he can’t help acknowledge the gnawing feeling he’s getting in the pit of his stomach.

Dean’s had time lately to think on the feeling in his stomach. It’s not that he doesn’t want Sam to succeed, he does. It’s more the aftermath of what happens when Sam does eventually succeed. Sam’s done hunting, Dean’s pretty much positive of that. It might not have been the ideal way to get out of hunting but they’ve never actually managed to find anyone who had gotten out of hunting alive so maybe it had been was the only way. Sam’s done hunting and they’ve been living a painfully normal life the past few months while he gets used to the blindness. He’s getting better, or at least he seems to be getting better, and with that he’s gaining friends and independence. These are all the things Dean wants for him. The next obvious step, and Dean can’t help but feel it’s a lot closer than he thought, is getting a girl.

After that then what? Did he really expect they would want to spend the rest of their lives living together? Realistically he knows that’s not how it’s going to play out. Sam will find a girl and they’ll eventually fall in love and want to make a life of their own. Sam’s still young enough for the apple pie life, even if it’s now a little burnt along the edges.

Sam had always been the fluid one, the one who adapts best even in the worst situations and for him this isn’t the worst situation. When he’s drunk enough to think way too much he realizes it’s probably why Sam fought so hard to get a “normal” life when he was younger. Dean’s always been the rock, yeah eventually he’ll change but it takes a hell of a lot of time and a lot of wearing away to get him there. It’s why he went on that hunt after they first moved here because change isn’t something that he does well.

Dean knows in the future he’s either going to end up being Sam’s drunk and bitter reclusive older brother or he’s going to end up hunting again. He’s just not sure if he’d be able to actually leave Sam, even after he gets settled into his happily ever after. And those are exactly the thoughts that keep him up at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've come to realize I think my voice has shifted perspective and I'm gunna eventually go back and edit the whole piece to be more uniform, but realistically this isn't going to happen until I finish the damn thing.


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day. I'm even surprised.

Dean’s birthday comes and he’s pleased it lands on a Tuesday, Sam seems significantly less thrilled but he never has been about Tuesdays. Dean intentionally doesn’t mention it to anyone at work but Sam shows up during his lunch break with a bacon cheeseburger and sits with him while he eats but he doesn’t actually admit why he’s there. When he gets home he’s surprised to find Sam in the kitchen pulling their dinner from the oven. It turns out to be Shepard’s pie and Dean is surprised to find that it is 100% edible, Sam kicks him under the table when he tells him that. For dessert Sam produces an apple pie, store bought he assures Dean when he sets it on the table. The next morning Dean notices four new guitar books on his nightstand.

Two weeks after Dean’s birthday both he and Sam are scheduled to work on Saturday. Not much different than normal but what irritates Dean is that they’re working opposite shifts, Sam opening at 8 with Lucy and Dean doesn’t go into work until afternoon, staying at the garage until a little after 9. It’s days like this that Dean desperately misses the freedom of hunting. They didn’t often have down days but they were never working as constantly as they had been since moving to Charlotte but he figures that’s the price of living a normal and semi-legal life.

The house is dark when Dean comes in from the garage and it makes his heart skip a beat. Sam’s been making an effort to remember that, while he no longer needs lights, Dean still does. Dean shakes his head trying to brush off the worry at how eerily similar it all feels. He’s about to head down the hall but stops when he notices the back door is open.

He lets out a breath, not aware he’d been holding it, when he find’s Sam out back swinging idly on the metal framed porch swing. It had been one of the only pieces of furniture Sam had asked for back when they were moving in so of course Dean had purchased it.

There’s a cigarette clamped between his brother’s lips, the end serving as the only light outside. Dean closes his eyes and tries to remember if he’d ever seen Sam smoke before. The only memory that comes to mind is back when Sam was fifteen Dean had caught him pulling a puff off of a ‘friends’ cigarette behind the high school. Dean had given him a black eye over it.

“When do you smoke?” He asks and Sam tilts his head towards Dean before pulling the cigarette from his lips.

“I smoked like a pack a day in Stanford,” Sam answers and Dean walks out to join him, ignoring the cold.

The swing isn’t really big enough for both of them but Sam pushes closer to the side when Dean sits. The metal frame squeaking in protest at the both of them. “You didn’t smoke when I came and got you.”

“Jess made me quit before we looked at apartments, most land lords don’t like smokers what with the fire hazards and all,” Sam lets out a sort of bitter laugh and Dean’s chest aches.

“So why are we smoking now?” He asks trying to steer the topic back into safe waters.

Sam shrugs and outs the stub of cigarette on the metal frame. “Rumor has it every cigarette takes seven minutes off your life.” He says it like he’s just stating a fact and a year ago Dean would have taken it as such but he knows better now.

“Sam.” It’s all he says and Sam drops his head into his hands, elbows braced on his knees.

“I’m not-“ Sam starts and then stops. “I’m not actively suicidal,” he gets out eventually and Dean realizes he’s started rubbing the back of his brother’s neck.

“So what are you?” He asks and he’s trying to remember the number for Doctor Chase and wondering if he’s going to have to call her.

Sam shrugs and leans into Dean slightly. “Lost… scared? I don’t know pick one.”

“Why are you scared?” Dean asks and he’s now running his fingers through Sam’s hair, something that always soothed the both of them over two decades ago.

“I’m scared that we’ll never be normal, that you’ll never get to be normal because of me.” It’s said quietly and it takes Dean a moment to understand what he’s saying.

“Sam I ain’t ever gunna be normal, you’re not either. So why are you worrying about it?”

Sam shrugs again and at this point his head is resting on Dean’s chest. “Because you should get to be normal. You don’t date anymore, you barely go out. All you do is work and come home to babysit me, you don’t even have a chance with me around.”

Dean’s fingers tighten in Sam’s hair for a moment before he forces himself to relax. “First of all I stopped babysitting you when you were ten, since then if I’m around it’s because I want to be,” he says gruffly. “Secondly I wouldn’t know how to properly date if someone gave me lessons. I can get in a girl’s bed sure but I didn’t even date Lisa, screwed her one weekend and then a decade later I moved into her house… not exactly normal.”

Sam lets out a breathy chuckle and Dean can feel the warmth of it even through his jacket. “When was the last time you actually got laid?”

Dean has to think about the question and that in itself should worry him. “I dunno… before Halloween I think.”

“So before I-“

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean cuts in abruptly, “that has nothing to do with it and don’t say you weren’t going there because you _always_ got there. So don’t.”

“Sorry.” Sam murmurs quietly.

Dean sighs heavily enough that Sam’s head bobs up and down with his chest. “Sam, stop it.”

“When am I going to be able to say that without you yelling at me?” Sam asks and begins absently picking at a thread at the bottom of Dean’s jacket.

“When you do something that you should actually be sorry for. So what about you? Why aren’t you worried about you getting a normal life?” He asks looking down at Sam’s head. He realizes that Sam hasn’t cut his hair since they’ve moved and it’s actually the longest it’s ever been.

Sam shifts then, so he’s mostly on his back with his head resting on Dean’s thigh, one leg is still on the ground pushing them and the other is propped on the arm of the swing. Dean hovers his arm awkwardly for a moment before dropping it over Sam’s chest. “They’re still inside me, ya know? The powers or whatever, I’ve noticed it since I woke up in Wyoming… I can feel them again.”

Dean is glad he’s sitting because Sam’s confession sends him reeling. He’d always figured Sam had burnt out after letting Lucifer ride him into the pit. Sure he’d had visions but they’d been from Lucifer, anyone could have visions when the devil himself wants to send them to you. “Visions?” he asks trying to keep his voice neutral.

Sam laughs and it’s bitter again. “No… maybe, I don’t know. I still see things in my head, I guess like dreams or daydreams. Like sometimes when you’re talking I can see the faces you’re making even though I can’t actually see you. I don’t think I’ve had any vision-visions because I haven’t gotten any of the headaches but I see weird shit in my head all the time but I don’t think they’re prophetic or whatever.”

Dean nods and for the first time he’s truly curious about what it’s like in Sam’s head now that his eyes have gone dark. “So what then?”

“Back when they first started, especially right after Jess, I could feel them under my skin. It feels like after you get shocked how all your nerves tingle, it feels like that,” Sam tries to explain. “I can feel it under my skin and maybe it’s always been there but being blind makes me notice it now, like how I can smell things differently.”

“Have you done anything? I mean I don’t even know what to ask here,” Dean says and it’s true because he’s never known how to help Sam out with this whole powers thing.

“No, not that I know of. Without the demon blood I really only ever had the visions except that time I thought Max was going to kill you.” Sam answers and he shrugs, shoulder bumping into Dean’s thigh.

Dean’s quiet for a while, trying to let this whole conversation sink in. “I believe you, don’t get me wrong. But maybe that damn piece of rock woke it up in the field and now that it’s gone it’ll go away like the demon blood did but longer because it’s a God thing this time.” He feels his leg shaking a little and only then realizes that Sam’s shivering because the moron isn’t wearing a coat. “Whatever it is we’ll deal with it, we always do, but in the meantime lets go inside before you get hypothermia.”

Sam nods and untangles himself from the swing offering a hand out to Dean once he’s finally standing. Dean grabs his brother’s hand and stand, groaning when his knee pops. “You’re getting old,” Sam teases.

“Not all of us get to spend all day making kissy face at a pretty girl,” Dean retorts kicking at the side of Sam’s shoe with his boot.

“Hey I spend eight hours on my feet, that’s worse for the knees than laying under a car.” Sam says and leads them to the house, not yet having dropped Dean’s hand.

“You know what else isn’t good for the knees, Sammy? Spending all day on them… might wanna stop that.” Dean laughs and lets go of Sam’s hand trying to duck away from any potential hits.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Dean looks up and is almost blinded by the smile on Sam’s face, he doesn’t say anything because he knows he’s wearing a matching one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just can't let the powers thing go and I know I'm taking the slow boat to China on explaining what happened pre-fic, sorry about that.


	16. Sixteen

Dean’s first tipped off that Valentine’s Day is coming when Kelly, the new and very young receptionist at the garage, starts wearing dangly heart earrings. It’s stupid because he knows the holiday is about three weeks after his birthday but this year he wasn’t counting. Drifter Christmas had begun to lose its appeal over the last few years, the witch’s curse last year kind of sealed the deal for him. He decides he and Sam are probably going to spend the night in watching crappy horror films until one or both of them passes out on the couch.

On the tenth he comes home to find a box of assorted chocolate sitting open on the counter and there’s a rose still attached to the lid. A small piece of paper is tied to the rose and it’s thick like a business card. Dean flips it over expecting to find a florist’s card, instead there’s clearly something short written in braille on it. 

“Nice chocolate,” Dean says when he feels more than sees Sam enter the room.

Sam laughs and it’s a little breathy, “Yeah I was given those today.”

“So who gives a guy a rose and chocolates for Valentine’s?” Dean asks and pops one of the chocolates into his mouth. He immediately regrets his action when too sweet artificial cherry syrups seeps onto his tongue.

“Uhm well I think they were actually a bribe,” Sam answers and his cheeks are a little pink, “I now have a date for Valentine’s actually.”

Dean chokes around the chocolate. He’d met Lucy a few times in the past week, it’d been too cold to make Sam stand around waiting for a bus, and he could see her being the assertive type. She clearly liked Sam and was always rushing to tell Dean how well his brother was doing and how all her regulars already loved him. “That’s good, that’s good.”

“What are you doing? It’s not really drifter Christmas if we live here,” Sam asked as he put the lid back onto the chocolates.

“I was planning on staying home and watching movies, every year this day just gets weirder and this year if I go out I’ll end up waking up as a roach or something.” Dean says, careful to not let on that he’d been originally planning for the both of them to stay home.

Neither of them bring up the topic again until Dean gets home from work on the thirteenth and finds Sam sitting on their bed with all of his shirts, and probably a couple of Dean’s, spread around him. “Rearranging the dressers?”

“I need help, I don’t know what to wear, do we actually have anything decent?” Sam asks and he sounds frustrated.

Dean can’t help but laugh, “why does it matter?”

“Dean! Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean everyone else is,” Sam grinds out and chucks one of the shirts at Dean’s face.

Dean sighs and catches the shirt easily. “That’s not what I meant. You’ll look fine, you always do, don’t worry.”

Sam clearly isn’t settled by Dean’s assurances and drops his head. “Is my hair too long?” He asks suddenly as he begins toying with one of the strands now hanging in his face.

“Sam I’ve been begging to get you alone with some clippers since you were fifteen,” Dean crosses towards the bed and his brother. “But this is the only time you’re gunna hear me say this. No, it’s not too long.”

Sam grins in Dean’s direction, “Is the world ending?”

Dean laughs and begins sifting through the shirts on the bed, “Alright enough of that. Where are you going?”

“Uhm Sullivan’s, it’s a steak house.” Sam answers with a bit of a shrug.

Dean continues to sort through the shirts until an idea strikes him. He heads towards the closet and pulls out one of Sam’s fed suites, it’s the newer navy one they’d only bought a year ago. “Here wear this, no jacket though,” he tosses the suite to his brother.

“Thanks Dean,” Sam says as he runs his fingers around the collar of the suite.

“Clean up this mess and we’ll be even,” Dean nods as he begins to peel himself out of his work clothes.

They don’t bring up the date again for the rest of the evening but Dean can’t seem to get it out of his mind. He’s not sure what the proper etiquette is here. He assumes you generally don’t ask someone out to dinner on Valentine’s unless you’re interested in screwing them. In the past they hadn’t actually been anywhere where it was a good idea to bring a date home but this year was different. He’s not sure if Sam will want to go back to Lucy’s simply because Dean won’t be there or if they’ll come back to the house anyway. And if they come back to the house where should Dean be? He assumes he’ll be asleep but where? Should he leave the big bedroom to Sam? Technically it is Dean’s but Sam spends just as much time using the bed as he does.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Sam says and pokes at Dean’s side, they’re on the sofa and the TV is on but neither of them are watching.

Dean scrubs his hands over his face and grabs his beer, a little disappointed to find it already half empty. He drains it the rest of the way. “Nah, just tired. I think I’m gunna go to bed early.”

Sam looks confused, “Dude it’s like nine.”

Dean looks at the clock and realizes that Sam’s right, it’s actually only 8:55 but he’s not going to tell him that. “Yeah like I said, tired and bed early.”

Sam’s hand is on his forehead and the confused look is quickly replaced with worry, “You’re not getting sick are you?”

Dean squeezes his eyes tight before removing Sam’s hand from his face, “Nah I’m just tired.”

“Alright well if you don’t feel well tomorrow let me know,” _and I’ll stay home_ lingers in the air but Sam never actually says it.

“I’m good, don’t worry about it. Just working a bunch.” Dean reassures and pats Sam’s knee as he stands.

He does actually have a headache in the morning, probably from the bottle of whisky he drank after escaping into the bedroom but before Sam slipped into bed. He doesn’t tell Sam that, doesn’t want to give Sam any reason to cancel his date so he just slips out of bed and downs a few Tylenol with his coffee.

Dean’s in the shower when Sam gets home from work and he’s barely registered the front door slamming open then shut before Sam’s in the bathroom. It’s not the oddest thing that’s happened and Dean’s not bothered, years of sharing a single bathroom in various motel rooms also it’s not like Sam can actually see him. Dean’s moved scrubbing motor oil from his arms when Sam starts hastily stripping.

“Uh dude I’m in here.” Dean calls out even though he knows Sam has to know.

“Dude out, the bus was fucking fifteen minutes late.” Sam spits and starts peeling off his shirt.

“Okay but we have another shower,” Dean reminds him.

Sam’s huffing and it’s hard to tell if it’s in annoyance at Dean or at the fact he’s trying to take his shoes and pants off at the same time. “Yeah but one, all my stuff is in here and two, if I go in there we’ll be fighting over hot water. So out.” Sam orders and he’s suddenly at the shower door and sliding it open.

Dean quickly rinses the soap off of his body, “alright, alright ya giant girl.” He climbs out past Sam and grabs his towel, not like he won’t have time to finish the shower tonight anyway. Sam doesn’t bite for his taunt because he’s already bent backwards under the spray wetting his hair. Dean reminds himself it’s not polite to stare and walks out of the bathroom.

It’s seven thirty, Sam’s still not exited the bedroom and Dean’s wondering to himself (and The Blob) if he actually has a sister when the doorbell rings. He looks from the door to the hallway waiting for Sam to appear. The doorbell rings again after a moment and Dean sighs before standing up. “You’re blind, Sam, not deaf,” he mumbles to himself as he walks over to the door.

Two things happen the second Dean throws open their front door. The first being that the bedroom door is thrown open almost simultaneously and Dean can mentally see the dent in the wall from the force. The second is Dean is suddenly very, very confused.

It’s not Lucy standing outside on their front porch but instead Colby and Dean thinks this might be the first time he’s seen the guy wear something other than a hoodie. “Hey, Dean, is Sam…” Colby starts but cuts off because Sam’s suddenly by the front door sounding a little out of breath.

“Hey, Colby.” Sam says quickly and wedges himself between Dean and the screen door. Dean’s still standing there gaping like a fish as Sam holds open the screen and invites the other man in.

“Hey Sam.” Colby says and Dean thinks it’s probably the dumbest sound he’s heard.

“Sam,” Dean says sharper than he means to because both the other men jump, “Can I uh talk to you for a sec?” He doesn’t wait for Sam’s answer before grabbing his arm and hauling him around the corner into the hall.

“Dean what the hell?” Sam whispers.

“Why is Colby here?” Dean whispers back because he’s trying not to jump to conclusions.

Sam suddenly blushes such a vibrant shade of red Dean would swear he was wearing makeup if he hadn’t seen it naturally appear. “I told you I had a date.”

“With… Colby?” Dean says stupidly.

Sam nods.

“With Colby, a dude… like an actual man, Colby?” Dean repeats trying to wrap his head around it.

“Dean please don’t do this right now,” Sam begs.

Dean drops his grip on Sam’s elbow and backs out of his space, “Yeah… sorry have fun.” He manages out before walking down the hall back to their room. He hears Colby’s car backing out of the driveway where it stalls out for a second before they drive off. He finds himself bitterly hoping the damn engine falls out… tomorrow when Sam’s not in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had been debating who the date was with for literally two days before settling on Colby, it'll fit better with Dean's reaction to the whole thing in the coming chapters.


	17. Seventeen

“So are we going to talk about it?” Sam was the first to break the silence the next day, exactly as Dean had anticipated.

“Talk about what exactly? You had a date, you went on said date. Good for you,” Dean answers before pointedly turning back towards the TV, he sighs and remembers the move was lost on Sam so he takes the remote and clicks the volume up to punctuate it.

Snatching the remote from Dean’s hand Sam turns the TV off. “Talk about the fact that you had a minor freak out in the hall yesterday.”

“Didn’t freak out, I was just caught off guard.” Dean protests.

Sam snorts in disbelief. “That was definitely you freaking out.”

“Caught off guard.” Dean argues again.

“Seriously, Dean? You’ve never been particularly homophobic before.” Sam shoots back, one eyebrow raised.

Sam was right, of course. Dean wasn’t homophobic, didn’t have a problem with who liked who and what they had between their legs. Which was exactly why he wasn’t sure what his problem had been. “Since when do you go out with guys?”

“So you’re not homophobic as long as it’s not your brother?” Sam asks in disbelief.

“I’m not homophobic, I’ve just never known you to date someone other than chicks.”

“Dean I barely date anyone but actually you have. Aaron Montgomery was definitely a guy and you were definitely around,” Sam says defiantly.

Dean sits for a moment trying to figure out who the hell Sam was talking about. “Wait Aaron Montgomery… like from when you were sixteen?”

“Yes.”

Dean remembered Aaron. The summer after Sam had turned sixteen the kid had been his only friend in Warren Ohio. Well Dean had always assumed they were just friends, mostly because he was a guy and Sam had already had a handful of girlfriends. “You were dating?”

Sam throws his head back and lets out an exasperated laugh. “You seriously didn’t know?”

“No, I just thought he was your best friend… I mean you always hung out together but I never saw you making out or shit.” Dean says trying to remember if he’d actually seen anything all those years ago that had insinuated Sam was dating the guy. “So you date guys?”

Sam shrugs suddenly looking a little self-conscious. “I guess? Colby is the third guy I’ve ever been out with.” He was chewing his bottom lip, clearly trying to figure out how to word what he wanted to say. “I’ve never cared. With Aaron I thought I liked him at first because no one really showed interest in me and he did. But by the end of the summer I realized I like him. I’ve dated more girls than guys, sure, but that doesn’t really matter to me.”

Dean thought for a moment. He could see how Sam was like that, never had been too focused on the outside of people as much as the inside. “So you’re indiscriminate?”

“Ten cent word there,” Sam teases.

“Shut up bitch, I know how to use a dictionary.”

“But yeah I guess that’s the best way to put it.” Sam agrees after a minute.

“Are you two going out again?” Dean asks and realizes how rehearsed the question sounds.

“Would it bother you?” Sam asks just as carefully.

Dean thought for a moment, would it bother him? Yes, it would. But he realized it was also very likely it would bother him if they were discussing Sam seeing Lucy again. So it wasn’t a gender thing, it was a dating in general thing. “Nah, just thrown off by you suddenly being into guys.”

By the end of February Sam had been out on two more dates with Colby and the guy seemed to linger around after his tutoring sessions, which Dean was beginning to think Sam didn’t need anymore. Dean tried his best to be polite and not say anything stupid but he knew himself. Silence was usually bought with the bottom of a bottle.

It was almost the middle of March when Sam and Colby went out for a third time. It was around one in the morning when Dean woke and realized that the bed was still empty. It hit him that Sam wasn’t coming home.

Dean found himself wondering, to himself and to the bottom of his cup, what Sam was doing. He was actually a little curious about what they were doing. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what they were up to that was keeping Sam from coming home but he’d never thought of Sam with another guy. He knew how gay sex worked, had seen enough porn and done enough things while stupid drunk to know what went where and how you got it there. It was just weird to think of Sam doing that. Sam just always came off as very… vanilla. The again it was probably odd for Dean to be thinking of Sam having sex at all but Jim Beam didn’t seem to feel the same way.

He found himself more than curious, thoughts borderline obsessed, if Sam was bottom or top. He’d seen his brother with women, watched him use his height and bulk to his advantage and throw them around like ragdolls. Except that wasn’t what just what Sam wanted from sex. Sam took his cues from everyone else in terms of what they did in bed. Most women interest in Sam and casual sex (something that was a rare occurrence) were so because they wanted him to manhandle and dominate them. So Sam delivered. It was a people pleaser thing. Which made it just as easy to assume that if a guy wanted to top that Sam wouldn’t have any problems bottoming.

If Dean was honest, and you don’t get more honest than a bottle of bourbon, he might have thought about it the few (hundred) times people had suggested he and Sam were together. No doubt in his mind that Sam was bottom in that hypothetical relationship, even if other people would assume differently because of his brother’s extra height. It was just far easier to imagine Sam beneath him than it was to imagine being thrown around by him.

Maybe it was the fact that it was now two in the morning, or the fact that he was piss drunk, or perhaps simply just the fact that he hadn’t had sex in almost six months. But Dean found himself getting uncomfortably hard while the images of Sam face down on bed where running through his mind. He wondered if Sam made those soft breathy grunts that Dean heard whenever he took just a little too long in the shower. Everything was all too easy to imagine because he knew what every inch of Sam looked like bare. The way his ever tan skin stretched across his ribs when they expanded and contracted. The way his leg muscles got impossibly more define when he clenched them.

Dean wakes the next morning still alone and with sticky sheets, he’d passed out before even being able to consider cleaning up. His insides roll around defiantly and he barely makes it to the bathroom before his stomach empties of it’s mostly liquid contents. Dean isn’t sure what set him off: the hangover or the incestuous tone of his drunk fantasies. Either way he’s pretty certain the liquor is to blame for everything.

He’s not sure why, or maybe he does, but Dean finds himself scanning through newspaper articles for the rest of the morning. He’s been avoiding the news since the first and last hunt he found in North Carolina. Nothing catches his eye for a few minutes and part of him feels relieved but mostly he feels lost. Then there’s an article tucked away on page four about the fruitless ongoing investigation into the deadly animal attack in Uwharrie National Forest. Save for a large cat attack in 2012 the area isn’t often the sight of stupid people being eaten by nature. The whole thing just rubs Dean the wrong way.

The coroner’s report is already uploaded to the state police servers since the attack occurred almost a month before. He figures there’s no real reason to drive out there and risk pissing sam off unless he has proof it isn’t just another random animal attack. Bits and pieces of the victim are missing, that he can tell just from the autopsy photos. The real proof lies in the actual report, there’s not a single piece of the heart left inside the young man’s chest.

Werewolf.

Dean considers calling around until he realizes the next full moon is literally the following night, there’s not likely to be a hunter close enough to make it this cycle. He wasn’t actually planning on taking the hunt, things had gone so very very south the last time he’d done that. He’d just been looking, making sure his world would still be around whenever Sam signaled that he no longer needed Dean in his. He couldn’t just turn his head from this though, a person had died and he knew what it was and that it was likely the werewolf was still in the area completely unaware of what they became last month. He had to tell Sam, his brother wasn’t selfish. He’d know what was at stake and would have to be okay with it even if he was mad at Dean for looking for cases in the first place.

Sam didn’t show up until around noon, the telltale click of Colby’s beater announcing his arrival from halfway down the block. Dean found himself once more bitterly hoping the car would just die, again preferably at a time that Sam was actively inside of it.

“So you’re gunna be mad at me,” Dean starts as soon as Sam was in the door, no point in beating around the bush.

Sam pauses just over the threshold looking as if he was debating if leaving again was his better option. Curiosity got the best of him. “Alright what’d you do?”

“I found a case…”

Sam sighs and shuts the front door, “Like a case-case?”

“No a briefcase, yes a case.” Dean snaps rolling his eyes.

“So why are you telling me, call someone else.” Sam orders before dropping onto the couch.

“That’s just it… there’s no time. Werewolf getting take out in a local nation park and-“

Sam cuts him off. “The full moon starts tomorrow,” he finishes.

“Yeah… not really likely anyone else is in the area and I can’t just ignore this.” Dean insists.

Sam’s quiet for a few minutes before sighing heavily once more. “I know, it’s not fair for me to ask you to do that.”

Dean finally leaves the safety of the kitchen and sits down next to Sam, knocking their knees together. “Two nights. I’ve still got some silver bullets in the trunk.”

“I’m coming with.” Sam says suddenly, turning his head towards Dean in a challenge.

Dean wasn’t exactly expecting that. There’s no way Sam could function in a forest without his sight. “Sam…”

“No” Sam interrupts again. “I know I can’t help but I’m not staying here hoping you haven’t gotten eaten or bit. I’d rather do that at a motel nearby. I can still probably stitch up wounds if you need it.”

Dean looks at his brother’s face and realizes he’s fighting a losing battle. Sam hasn’t used his determined face in a few months but Dean still knows it all too well. It’s the same face Sam put on when he was eleven and started needling their father to take him with on hunts because Dean was going. The same face Sam wore the night he laid that redwood stamped envelope on the shitty motel table in front of Dean and their father. It’s a face that says ‘I’m doing this come hell or high water’ and at this point high water might have a better chance at keeping Sam back. “Alright.” He agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh feels like we might be getting somewhere, yes?


End file.
